


Bite the Hand that Feeds

by Little_Guy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Babybones (Undertale), Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kids don't really get to be kids here, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Some weird thoughts cause boy these kids are little fucked up, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Swapfell Undyne (Undertale), Worldbuilding, sentient gaster blasters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24253399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Guy/pseuds/Little_Guy
Summary: Growing up under the hand of Gaster as the Royal Scientist is a hell that Sans wouldn’t wish on anyone. Not even the lowest of the cretins that roamed his home.Raising a sibling under the man? Something he considered to be the worst stroke of luck since being created.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale), Sans & Undyne (Undertale), W. D. Gaster & Papyrus & Sans
Comments: 26
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

“Keeping the hope in our minds

One day life will be kind.”

–[ Home ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Vpsn1PurGA), AURORA

* * *

  
  


The room shakes, rubble falling from the ceiling that clink against the shield of bone formed quicker than most could blink an eye, as a steady stream of magic from the maw of a beast stays focused on the singular target in the room. 

It was an endurance test. Weapons didn’t need breaks. Weapons didn’t feel pain. Weapons didn’t understand what fatigue was. The list went on and on, and Sans wills the sweat on his skull to be the only sign of the rapid depletion of magic in his system. Failure wasn’t an option. 

_Wouldn’t_ be an option. He’d been here since before the clock tolled it’s first cry five days ago. Stuck in this same position— eye light blazing, feet planted in a proper parade rest, spine straight as an arrow, and head held high as he was kept under constant scrutiny. Perfection was absolute here. 

Sans grits his teeth forcing his knee to stay straight even as a bullet of bone is shot at his leg, an incessant grinding that beckons him to give up. To fall before his limit. To fail. Failure would lead to punishment. Punishment led to disappointment and he was _not a disappointment._

The connection with his arsenal doesn’t so much as waver as another bullet joins the fray, digging into the disks of his spine. Weapons didn’t feel pain.

The target begins to splinter, hairline fractures spreading across the surface minute by minute in what has been the longest amount of time he’s been forced into this room. 

He’d take this over everything else. Here Sans could imagine that target as the Good Doctor’s head. Imagine the cracks appearing bit by bit until he turned to dust and offered to be no further threat.

Bone shattering beneath his hands— _easy easy easy it would be so easy_ — as the soul was taken before it could disappear with the rest of the body. Be eaten as a sign of his victory and advancement over the Good Doctor. A new well of power to call— _to tame_ — as his own until no one could lift a hand to him.

Weapons didn't feel pain, but who was to say they wouldn’t form minds of their own? Shoot without another hand to guide it? Kill without prompting?

The target gives to a creak as the beam blasts clean through, the slabs of it falling to both sides of its stand. Sans doesn’t stop. He wasn’t told to yet.

His soul flutters in his rib cage, dull and weak at the constant expense of magic without a break. Weapons didn’t need food.

It’s as his vision starts to turn hazy, eye light going in and out of focus with black and white spots, his stance starting to wobble, when the intercom clicks to life.

“That is enough S-1. Your results have improved,” the scratching of a pen echoes in his mind as Sans wills the beast away. He just needed to stay standing long enough to make it to his room. “We will commence with the next test in a few hours at most.”

The Good Doctor was planning something, then. That never boded well.

The room’s door opens with a crack of air, it’s lock releasing even as Sans makes his way toward it, fluorescent lights feeling like a tactical light marking him for the slaughter as he walks, posture not falling from its perfect form. The only safe place (and even then he used the word sparingly) was his cell.

The problem was the fact that the hall that led to it was sealed shut with one of the airtight doors, soft glowing arrows on the floor flickering to life as the Good Doctors usual way of dictating where Sans was supposed to head if he didn’t feel like interacting with one of his inferior experiments. 

Taking a moment to draw a frost bitten breath of air— the lab wasn’t meant to feel welcoming after all— through his non-existent lungs Sans follows the trail. His boots echo in the halls, endless and monotonous and yet, Sans has been forced to navigate the maze since he could walk. Gaster did not coddle weapons. Weapons were to be used. To be wielded. What use would they be if they couldn’t navigate the maze on their own?

Useless. A waste of time. Sans had seen what happened to the less fortunate apprentices for that very reason; those that could not prove themselves useful were removed. 

The only reason he got the arrows now was because of a new apprentice— high hopes for her. Picked up straight from Waterfall by Gaster himself— they were given one week to remember the layout with the arrows as help and then they were on their own to remember. 

To remember what turn would take them to the training rooms, what curve would round out to the ‘break room’ (or as Sans liked to call it: the morgue), several monsters already passed out on the room’s various couches and chairs, while others were chugging the most foul smelling drinks he’d ever had the displeasure of encountering and poured over the various papers in front of them.

No stripes in sight. All of them adults. Sans looks down at the marker on his wrist, the red and silver stripes marking him as one of the youngest individuals in the lab. He’d been created here, trained here, slept here. This was… his normal. 

Continuing down the path to the infirmary Sans keeps his head held high— he didn’t need the silly little arrows— only pausing in front of the door for the scanner to look him over, the hiss of the locks slowly opening the door. His sockets narrow at the other child walking about in stripes. 

The apprentice from Waterfall. An _usurper_ if Sans had ever seen one. 

The lab’s lights were off the Good Doctor scratching away as always as he hunched over a tube, sickly green liquid sitting still as the smallest soul Sans had ever seen slowly thumps away. The apprentice leads him away before he can get a closer look, an odd ache in his chest causing him to clench his teeth. 

Something was _wrong, wrong, wrong._ Weapons didn’t feel. He wasn’t supposed to _feel._

Gaze placid Sans makes his way onto the stool, an IV needle being slid into his soul without fuss. There wasn’t a sting anymore. That had stopped bothering him by the time he was two. The spots from earlier didn’t bother him as much now either— given enough time and even they wouldn’t bother him even if they were permanent— but the slow breath he takes at the shot of unadulterated energy filling him back up could be described as exhilarating. 

“Your vitals are returning to normal quite quickly for such an arduous task,” Undyne remarks, a hand coming up to fix her glasses. Sans looks at her blankly, the message clear: _of course they are. I am not a weakling like you._ Because she was in his eyes. The chip in her glasses was a testament to her inability to dodge quick enough. 

She chuckles, “Yes, you’re still quite contemptuous against my person aren’t you S-1? I would remind you however, that I am the reason your test was not extended past five days— your body simply isn’t ready for such an undue strain.” 

The beast simmers in the back of his mind a hiss of: _let me devour her, let me out, let me out, let me out!_ As Sans forces the thing back into its place even as a sneer takes over his face— still young with age, but already so distorted with a sense of entitlement— physical harm to the snooty little fish would have him punished. Words? Words he could get away with. 

“AND _YOU_ THINK YOU ARE AT THE LEVEL OF DECIDING WHAT’S BEST FOR ME? AT TAKING AWAY MY GLORY BECAUSE OF SOME ASSUMED LIMIT?” Sans flexes a clawed, gloved hand forming the smallest beast he can in front of her face (the inane thing looked at it in _fascination_ as if the Good Doctor wasn’t the only thing keeping Sans from going for her throat), it’s jaws already sharpening from the affects of LoVe on his frame. “YOU AREN’T THE INDISPENSABLE GENIUS YOU THINK YOU ARE, NOT WHEN _I_ AM HERE.” 

Undyne smiles the sharpened edges of her teeth gleaming a toxic green from the light of Gaster’s latest experiment. Her fingers curl around the IV as gentle as one might a bird bone, movements deliberately slow as she tilts her head closer, fins flaring, “Yet you don’t seem to understand the concept of allies.”

The hand resting over his knee digs so deep that Sans knows a scratch will form. But what were scratches to an unfeeling thing? “I HAVE NO NEED FOR THEM. WEAKLINGS ARE TO BE GIVEN NO TIME.”

She laughs. “I can’t wait to record your growth. You are dismissed S-1, the next test will commence in an hour. I would suggest resting while you can.” 

He puffs air through his nose in her direction ignoring the hand offered to him as he gets off the stool. The ache returns as he passes the tube of liquid once more. A _yearning,_ a desperate _call._ Sans’ mind urges him to reach for it. His hands curl into fists as he leaves the infirmary.

The Good Doctor was planning something. That never boded well. 

***

Sans flicks the metal free from his claws a field of carnage behind him as the blaze of magic fades from his socket. Teeth closing around the artificial soul, magic splatters against his jaw a heavy _drip drip drip_ falling against the floor as he waits for the intercom to click into life. 

It tasted horrible. It didn’t taste like real _full_ magic, nothing full of hope or compassion or even a _drive_ to keep on living. But, it wasn’t supposed to after all. Gaster had created them as a way to keep his LV in check and still allow him to train. It was just magic pumped into a soul shaped container, so his battles could simulate what happened if he _aimed_ for the culmination of a monster’s being. 

“Three-point-two seconds quicker than your last attempts.” Gaster tsks. The vents in the room open up once more. “I think you can be quicker than that S-1. Don’t disappoint me.”

The roar of the beast in the back of his mind acts as a battle cry as Sans enters the fray once more, Colichemarde of bone forming in his hand without pause. Finesse weapons could be just as effective as brute force. 

Weapons constantly improved. 

***

He was in the tube today. One of less strenuous activities as far as tests went. Sans simply had to sit on the floor of the over-sized capsule and ride through the pressure forced onto his soul until the pain simply stopped registering. Other days his magic was siphoned away bit by bit and then coaxed into restoring itself. A way to grow his reserve of magic the Good Doctor had said. 

“ _Only the strong are worth cultivating. The weak are mere fodder for beings like us— we are superior to them in every way. The strong are who survive in this world S-1. you would do well to remember this.”_

Weapons were strong. Sans was created as a way to break the barrier. _He was a weapon._ He would be strong. He would be superior in every way the Good Doctor deemed fit. 

The lab was empty now, just the quiet beep of the machine connected to his tank and the one opposite to keep him company in the low-light of the building. The soul had grown. It was still a small thing ( _power power power_ the beast hisses, _why shouldn’t we consume it?)._

_“_ THE DOCTOR WOULD NOT APPROVE.” Sans answers it, the liquid in the tank no longer a discomfort as it floods through every crevice it can. Settles in him, around him, steals from him, becomes part of him. 

Monster souls were precious certainly. They were the very culmination of their being, but more importantly they were a treasured source of power. Often the soul went away with the body when a monster dusted, but there were ways to extract it from a body when given the right amount of time and delicate procedure. 

Gaster had made use of it quite often before the Good Doctor had realized that consuming the soul even outside of it’s dusted state could increase LoVe. They were divine things. The purer the better. 

It wasn’t moving yet and Sans doubted that it would anytime soon. It was such a small thing, he was sure he could crush it in his hand if given the chance, but… it was quite pretty. There was color to the thing mixed in with the gray. Subtle and faded, but there all the same. 

Sans lets his own drift free from its hiding spot. Scarred already and he’d barely passed his eighth year, he was something to behold after all. Stronger than any of the other subjects the Good Doctor introduced, stronger than the _usurper_. His tongue forms to run over his teeth. 

Without any regard for scratching his own soul Sans shoves it back into his chest cavity when it starts to _ache_. Something was wrong and the Good Doctor could never know. Sans wouldn’t let his progress go to waste. He could fix the problem himself. 

The soul across from him was so pretty. It shined like the pearl he’d won off a monster from Waterfall when they were stupid enough to challenge him, flawless in appearance and it had such a beautiful song, like the sirens that occasionally sang on The Morgue’s radio. 

Every soul had a signature. Each had a song that differentiated them from everyone else and his sockets lid at the quiet little melody of this one, his own soul responding in kind with it’s low baritone, uneven at parts, but still as strong as the day he was created. Sans had never really had the opportunity to _respond_ to a soul song and it was… it was enjoyable.

The first time he’d listened into the Good Doctor’s it had sent him into a frenzy. The notes were discordant and out of place so loud, so deep, so high all at the same time that all Sans had wanted was for it to _stop._ To get as far away from it as he could! _Away away away!_

This was a far more pleasant sound.

“BE A WEAPON TOO,” He murmurs, resting against the side of the tank.

Because weapons didn’t always work alone.

***

The Good Doctor’s hand was resting between his shoulders, his mind screaming that such a threat so close was _bad bad bad what are you doing!_ while his body stays slack in the jaws of a ~~Monster worse than anything his nightmares could conjure~~ genius. 

He isn’t sure how long it’s been since he’d last seen the little thing, but it was just as beautiful, it’s song just as soothing, as _welcoming,_ as _strong_ as it’d been that night Sans had been in a tank across from it. His claws ache to hold it, to tuck it away close to his own soul and let them sing in a way that feels like serenity, but he stays still. The Good Doctor hadn’t given him permission to move yet.

“Do you know what this is Sans?” He’d earned a full name a little after he’d dusted a monster three times his size. Still in stripes. The Good Doctor doesn’t bother to give him the time to answer, his own clawed hand squeezing at Sans’ shoulder. “This is the next in line for the alphabet series. P-2.”

_A weapon a weapon a weapon a weapon_

Sans’ expression doesn’t so much as twitch as he nods. “THEIR ROLE?”

“His role,” Gaster corrects, the Good Doctor had no morals, but even he wasn’t willing to take away the settling of a soul. “Is to assist you as a training partner. A companion if you will in our journey to destroy the barrier.” 

Sans’ eyes scan over the form. He had a body now, thin and small and for a brief moment the word _important_ runs through his mind instead of the usual ‘weak’. Monsters that looked frail from birth often were the first exploited for exp. A hiss starts up from the beast at the thought. 

“WHEN WILL HE JOIN ME?”

A pat to his shoulder as cold as the metal of the walls. It seeps through his clothes and spreads like a disease even as Sans forces himself to stay still. The Good Doctor’s hands were _poison._ Capable of hurt and pain that most would find unimaginable. 

Sans had found himself on the wrong end of the Good Doctor’s scalpel far more times than he’d ever like to keep track of (and yet did anyway, again and again and again, as a way to keep the rage fresh) as he was forced to connect bones are being cut, the process slow and experimental but _possible_ with enough magic and time. 

He’d been injected with more drugs than he could name at this point with each leaving him more delirious than the last as he blacked out from whatever carnage he created while forced to fight under them. The Good Doctor’s hands were to be feared.

They created life and took it away as he saw fit. 

“Soon, Sans. I expect his first emergence to be in a month’s time.” The Good Doctor leads him away, Sans flicking his gaze to the little monster one last time before he’s led out. “I expect you to be superior still, but an inferior addition to the Barrier project is better than one that won’t so much as form.”

***

His vision spots as Sans comes to on one of the cots in the infirmary. He _ached_ and not at all in the way his soul did when he saw P-2. This was an ache that traveled deeper than his bones should allow, a kind of pain that made him think that his body was simply a host for an ever expanding ravine of torture. He’d angered the Good Doctor. 

_Too slow_ echoes in his head like a verdict for death. Sans had been forced to combat his own beasts today. Angry and volatile with a new drug the Good Doctor had developed specifically for him after his magic had become immune to the weaker mixtures. They’d aimed for him like Sans aimed for his own enemies; with a one track mind of _Kill or Be Killed_. 

It had to have been at least a few hours with the way his reserves were just starting to rise above half full, but what did it matter? He’d be punished again tomorrow for his failure. Sans had been hit. Once, twice, thrice… on and on until he couldn’t keep up the count after one miss-step. 

The Good Doctor had taken his battered, drugged body and ripped the soul right out of his chest to separate it from him. Just because he could _feel_ its presence didn’t mean that it didn’t _hurt._ This was the Good Doctor’s new favorite way of punishing him. Without his soul Sans was sluggish, slow moving, slow processing, couldn’t access his magic in a way to _use_ it. His chest feels too empty and too heavy all at the same time, as if he was doing a balancing act with one foot in death’s door. 

Blinking it takes a moment for him to recognize that he isn’t alone in the room, not really at least. With a movement that takes more energy than it should to sit up Sans rests on his side to look at the new tank. It was larger than his old one, taller and wider to hold his little body in suspension and Sans allows a tired, slow smile to form. The infirmary cameras were off after all, the Good Doctor never kept them on at night, it took up too much power that the rest of the building used when the infirmary wasn’t required. 

P-2 was moving now. Wiggled his phalanges and responded to sound and soon the Good Doctor thought he could be brought out… the one month estimation had been… postponed. That was okay though, weapons were patient. Sans could be patient. 

“YOU’VE GOTTEN BIGGER,” Sans says to the open room, voice raspy and cracked. The Good Doctor had cracked his jaw. It would heal soon enough. P-2’s head turns slowly, tiny hands pressed against the glass, his tiny soul shining brighter at the notice of someone being in the room with him. “YOU SHOULD HURRY AND COME OUT THE GOOD DOCTOR HAS HIGH EXPECTATIONS.”

He keeps the _i’m excited too,_ to himself. Weapons weren’t supposed to want anything. 

There’s a pulse of something curious in P-2’s soul, and then an almost panicked quality to it as Sans’ soul doesn’t respond. A constant of the few times they’ve been in the same room long enough to do so. P-2 _knew him._ Knew his battered, scarred, anger filled soul and still always shared that calm little melody of his. 

“IT ISN’T HERE TODAY,” It doesn’t seem to help at all. “I’LL GET IT BACK. YOU MIGHT HAVE YOURS TAKEN TOO IF YOU MISBEHAVE.” He means it as a way to warn the little monster, but when the little soul song goes quiet Sans can’t help, but wonder what he said that was wrong. 

He sighs, settling in a more comfortable position. “I’LL BE HERE FOR THE NIGHT, P-2. I HOPE TO SEE YOU OUT OF THAT TUBE OF YOURS SOON.”

***

P-2’s sockets were open. Sans clutches the books in his hands tighter, claws digging marks into the hardback cover as the other monster _sees_ him for the first time. This certainly isn’t the first time Sans has broken the Good Doctor’s rules about going to see the other monster after his emergence kept getting postponed (and he wondered, on occasion, if it was perhaps because the monster didn’t like the Good Doctor as much as him. The beast croons at the thought), but it’s the first time he feels choked in a _good way._

It didn’t hurt. Yet, he still felt as if he was going to burst at the sockets, his soul swelling to be two sizes too large. It was a kind of bursting he couldn’t really describe. Something… _warm_ at the center. 

“HELLO,” Sans croaks out, an unfamiliar kind of dread sinking his soul to where a stomach would be on other monsters. This was the first time that P-2 was _seeing_ him, in his _entirety._ Not just through a soul song, but his actual scars and LoVe impacted appearance. It was small in comparison to higher leveled monsters but… P-2 had no claws, had no sharpened teeth, had no _scars._

P-2 waves his fingers, an awkward, fumbly movement and he’s still so _small._ And again that word whips through his head _important_ and Sans thinks he gets it, just a bit. P-2 was important to _him._ A companion. The companion ~~that S-1~~ ~~,~~ that _Sans_ was going to have through his life in the lab. 

“CAN YOU SPEAK?” Glancing at the camera situated high on the wall Sans sighs in relief. It was off. As all the other times he’d snuck around the blind spots of the building, still it was never too much to be safe.

His book reading to the younger monster had been a more recent venture. With more and more privileges earned with his progress Sans had worked out how to get to the infirmary every night to share them. The Good Doctor had been… very insistent that Sans stay away from the infirmary as late. 

Sans hadn’t listened of course. There weren’t many pleasures he allowed himself (often because the Good Doctor went about removing them if he wasn’t careful), but this wasn’t one of the things he stopped.

The first book had been a collection of flora on the surface that the Good Doctor scoured from somewhere. And tonight? It was that very same book, to try and finish it with P-2.

P-2’s sockets furrow his mouth moving, but nothing forming from it. Sans can’t say he’s too surprised, the monster was young… and stuck in that tube far longer than normal. It wasn’t surprising that despite his technical age, he wasn’t really up to par.

That was fine. Sans could do the reading and talking for the both of them until the other monster could work up the ability to. “THAT’S OKAY. THE DOCTOR MIGHT MAKE YOU RUSH, BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO RIGHT NOW.”

Another secret he was keeping from the Good Doctor— the book requests he sent out for every once in a while. Sans had been replicating the monster’s font until it was impossible to find the difference, and in doing so, managed to get a few books on… families.

He wasn’t quite sure if weapons could really have such, but the word seemed right, and they encouraged a ‘safe space’. Sans was clearly older, and as the more experienced individual when it came to the Good Doctor and what would soon be _their_ training, he’d have to make sure the other monster felt… safe with him? 

Weapons could protect too, after all. 

P-2’s tube had been shifted to the floor at some point instead of the table it was originally. Legs folding under himself and spine straight, Sans leans against the side of the tube so that P-2 can see the book if he wants.

He gets through a whole chapter before the thunk of something hitting the glass makes him pause. Looking up from the page on red spider lily. Sans sighs marking the chapter for another time. 

“GOODNIGHT,” He says softly, the ache in his soul easing after a bit of time.

There’d always be more time to read another night.

***

“There is something wrong with him,” Undyne looks up from the reports she’s looking over _—_ schematic improvements that Doctor Gaster wanted to make to the core before the next ‘summer’.

It was that same little monster as always. Unresponsive to any of Gaster’s attempts, always so adamantly quiet and stubborn in his refusal to interact with his creator. Undyne hoped the boy would crack soon, she couldn’t keep altering the camera feed each and every night that his counterpart wanted to interact with him. Besides it would be smarter for him to conform sooner rather than later. 

“How so, Dr. Gaster?” She inquires politely, head turned away from the raving back and forth clack of the older monster’s shoes. The man was… not her favorite person. He’d certainly given her more opportunities than ever before when he sniped her from Waterfall (away from _home),_ to help with his projects after stumbling upon her own, but he was… intimidating in a way that made her scales clamp down on her arms and made a shudder wrack through her whenever he was in a testy mood. 

Like right now with one of his hands pressed to the top of P-2’s tube, his face pressed close to watch the monster’s soul waver. He was smart enough to understand that a predator was in the room with him, at the very least. 

“You should have been ready ages ago,” It’s not quite a hiss _—_ because the Doctor would never lose his temper somewhere in public _—_ but the words drip with an irritation Undyne is all too familiar with. “Why is it that you are so insistent on wasting my time, hmm? The resources put into you? Ungrateful little creatures.”

Because they weren’t children to him; simply a means to an end. 

Undyne runs a finger over one of her paper, gaze flicking to the tube once more. It was a theory… and she had no real _concrete_ evidence for it, nor did she want to endanger the two (because while the older one certainly didn’t trust her, Undyne still had some morals… and she was hardly any older), but it was something. 

“Dr. Gaster?”

He doesn’t so much as look away from his new project, a twirl of his hand being the only sign for her to continue. 

“Why don’t you have him emerge in the same area as your older experiment?” The word feels like ash on her tongue. They were monsters, not experiments. “P-2 needs something strong enough to ground him into wanting to stay formed right? Wouldn’t another individual he could bond with do that?”

Because S-1’s original grounding moment had been that blaster of his. Forming at the same time as him and keeping him interested enough in _being something_ more than just a soul instead of a vessel of magic with no emotional tie to make him whole. 

And Undyne has _seen_ them. Sans’s might not understand what familial ties are, but she does and P-2 was clearly attached to him in some way. Otherwise, it might be nothing, but fear that keeps P-2 gripped to this world and that isn’t exactly the best motivation.

P-2 had nothing, but his fellow monster to keep him interested long enough for his soul to consider this place somewhere he could live. Had no blaster and she suspected it had to do with more than just his _stats_ (Abysmal as they were and she and the rest of the apprentices had stayed up so many nights to convince the Doctor that the experiment could still be _useful_ instead of having to see him be dusted like nothing). The Doctor clearly saw himself above the laws of the Underground. 

Gaster slowly lifts his head, hand falling away from the top of P-2’s tube. “That is simple. Sans would consume him whole before he was given the chance to familiarize himself with the world,” he wouldn’t. Undyne knows he wouldn’t.

“But, sir,” The glare Gaster sends her sends ice down her spine.

“I did not go through years of schooling before your wretched existence for you to speak to me so familiarly, _child.”_

She swallows. “Of course, Dr. Gaster. My apologies.” The glare doesn’t go away, but now he isn’t loomed over her. “It was just a suggestion.”

“Well now, I never asked for your suggestion now did I? Get back to your work.” 

The pen is squeezed so tight in her hand that Undyne is surprised it hasn’t busted. Behind her the Doctor goes back to his looming with a disappointed tisk. 

***

Sans’ eyes fly open at the presence in front of his room (no longer a cell. He’d earned the privilege of a private area now), body falling into the proper rest before the door can even open. “GOOD MORNING, DOCTOR.”

His limbs don’t feel the ache of being broken anymore. Sans had learned what it felt like to be tossed around like a rag-doll just yesterday _—_ ~~he couldn’t wait to implement the same action against the man in front of him~~ _—_ he couldn’t say he was a fan. 

The Good Doctor hardly gives him a glance, “Hurry along. I have something to show you.”

His soul throbs in his chest as he falls into step behind the Good Doctor _—_ never beside, and never ever in front. Keeping his mouth shut Sans keeps track of the twist and turns until it clicks that they’re making their way to his old room. Or rather, where the experiments that didn’t earn more privileges stayed. 

Something in him aches at the fact that he’ll have to come here again and again and again. The Good Doctor would only personally retrieve him for one reason after all; his companion was ready. 

He’d calculated their ages. A six year gap. Sans would have to show his companion the ropes ( _keep keep keep)._ The Good Doctor leads him down another hall _away_ from the cells and towards the old training rooms, a hand keeping him from walking in. 

“Wait.” It’s a command even without a harsh power behind the word.

So he does. Eyes strained like a hawk’s on the far smaller figure behind the glass, sweat on his brow and clothes soaked with it as he fumbles on his feet to avoid the swipes made at him ( _enemies enemies enemies!)_ from the filth the Good Doctor had kept as training partners. His claws dig through the material of his gloves as the Good Doctor tsks.

“It seemed that I was wrong to take any other opinions to heart. P-2 will be terminated.”

~~_Terminated? Destroyed. Eliminated. Execution points fodder. Useless. Weak_ ~~ _~~.~~ Important! _

The ring of pointed bone erupts from the floor around the other monster’s yelps of pain and surprise so loud that they shake the glass as P-2 crumbles to the floor in surprise, bones thin so so easy to _break_ ( _keep keep keep_ the beast whispers in his head), as Sans bares his teeth at the enemies he can’t rend to pieces with his own hands. 

The Good Doctor chuckles, the sound freezing his soul in place as a clawed hand squeezes at Sans’ shoulder, a smile as sharp as knives pointed down at him. “Excellent motivation. You’ll be punished for insubordination, but you may keep your motivation until he proves ineffective.” 

He knows better than to claw at the hand that forces its way past his rib cage to yank his soul free and out (and comfort why can’t he _feel the comfort anymore?),_ as he heaves a harsh, unsteady thing as the Good Doctor leads him away, sockets still trained on that little monster past the glass. 

The Good Doctor had planned something. It never boded well for him. 

***

It’s a week before Sans gets his soul back. He’d counted in between the broken bones and a new tank (that ate at him like acid and yet didn’t hurt. Pushed him to the point of dusting just to give him the time to reform over and over again), the Good Doctor commenting on his progress and how he planned to use P-2 ( _important little thing_ the beast had answered back to each numerical mark and for once Sans didn’t try to argue with it) as a way to keep him from slowing. Each answer marked a count in Sans head in what he wanted to do in return to the Good Doctor one day.

Make him feel the same pain that Sans had gone through since creation. A weapon was _used_ after all, so why couldn’t he learn to use himself? He was sentient, he no longer felt the pain after getting so accustomed to it and simply _shut down_ when required, but Sans was a weapon and the monster would be beneath him soon. 

_Useless things were stepping stones._ It wouldn’t be long until he didn’t need the man anymore. The Good Doctor should be proud of how far his thoughts had come, not that Sans would share them before the time came. 

Boots (new and with enough defense to make him as sturdy as a house), clacking against the floor he pauses in front of P-2’s cell, the other monster’s form curled up in the corner half under the bed and half hidden under a table. It was smart. Could protect him to a degree in case any of the other experiments got loose. Such a smart little companion that he had. 

“HELLO,” Sans greeted soft and slow (as his books had informed him. Children needed slow. The Good Doctor wouldn’t be, but that didn’t mean that Sans wouldn’t follow his own schedule), never falling out of his parade rest even as P-2 shrunk into his hiding spot. 

That wouldn’t do. Nor would the name. If _Sans_ had a full one, why shouldn’t his companion? Fonts were numerous enough he just needed to see P-2’s first… and his meaning wouldn’t work. S for Strike, P for Passive defense. 

Sighing Sans lets his soul do the talking. It had seen better days by now, but the younger monster seemed to take some kind of enjoyment from it, much like he did P-2’s own. It thrums long and slow, as deep as what he thinks the ocean would be and slowly, slowly ( _smartly)_ , P-2 comes out of his hiding spot. 

Sans can’t help, but scowl. He was in an infirmary gown with _no stripes_ to signal that he wasn’t free game for the more idiotic adults in the facility. The Good Doctor had fallen too deep if he thought it would pass. “STAND STILL.” 

P-2 looks at him warily ( _smart)_ , but there’s no fear ( _good we are companions. No fear),_ as Sans tugs off the signifier on his wrist after breaking his thumb, only pausing in his way to work it off when P-2 stares at it.

He wiggles his fingers, “IT’S FINE. IT’LL FIX ITSELF IN TIME.” It always did. “A SIMPLE BREAK OF THE BONE ISN’T ENOUGH TO REALLY HARM ME.” _or you._ Goes unsaid. The other monster was his companion and because Sans was older it was _his_ job to take the hit until he was sure the other monster could withstand them. “CHIN UP.” 

P-2 does so after a moment of debate his finger curled around his own wrist. They were too small for the band so his neck would have to suffice for now. Nodding in satisfaction when he closes the signifier (it wouldn’t open while connected to _him_ but as soon as it was off Sans could open and close it as he pleased). he motions for the child to sit. 

“DO YOU REMEMBER ME?” He prompts. Sans had no book today, but he’d come right here after he was released from the Good Doctor’s hands. 

P-2 nods, font fumbly and crooked without use. “s-1?” Papyrus. The Doctor could be quite uncreative. And of course he was telling his companion his old numerical marker. 

Sans shakes his head. “SANS. YOU ARE PAPYRUS.” 

Papyrus’ brows furrow his head shaking. “p-2.” He replies just as stubborn and Sans huffs settling on his knees to poke a careful claw through the bars at Papyrus’s chest. 

“ _PAPYRUS._ I OUTRANK YOU AND AS SUCH YOUR NEW NAME IS PAPYRUS.” Papyrus opens his mouth as if to argue and then goes back to shrink in his corner gaze flying to the side in panic. Sans stands up slowly, back to the bars as he faces the taller monster. “DOCTOR.” 

Gaster looks at him with a spark of interest that makes his soul churn with unease. “I see you’ve started to acquaint yourselves.” His eyes move to the child in the corner, a chuckle falling from him. “And you’ve already taken the initiative with his safety have you?”

Sans raises his chin. The signifier wouldn't fit on Papyrus’ wrist, the throat was a perfect place to put it _—_ it was hard to miss there. “WE ARE COMPANIONS, NO?”

“As long as P-2 stays useful,” Gaster replies loftily, hands resting behind his back. “You may return to your pet once we finish today’s test. If you do well enough I will permit you to walk him.” 

The beast hisses, but as small fingers work to curl around Sans’ own it quiets, the quiet melody calming him as usual. Sans doesn’t quite squeeze back (Papyrus’ bones were much too hollow for that right now even the worst of Gaster’s apprentices could see that with a glance), but he lets his soul _try_ and reassure him. They were in this together now. 

Weapons were capable of caring, when given the right kind of motivation. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a side-project for me to work on when I need a little break from other fics, and to help me develop my version of SFR as I see it. It's definitely not very graphic in many instance mainly because I don't feel comfortable writing graphic content against children, but if I forget to tag something please let me know!
> 
> Also I don't know if the treating of Souls as signifiers for monster or them having 'songs' is a new idea or not but i kinda wanted to explore it a bit. 
> 
> And I guess prompts are kind of welcome? Idk i'm just trying to write some stuff for this verse.
> 
> [the blog](https://little-guy-writes.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: Verbal abuse against a child, Psychological maltreatment of a child, referenced self-harm (non-graphic), the attempted cultivation of a _negative_ sibling rivalry, fear as a discipline tactic.

_ “I'm not feeling alright _

_ Staying up 'til sunrise _

_ And hoping shit is okay” _

- [ all the kids are depressed ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKxWP56VStM) , Jeremey Zucker

* * *

Papyrus sits as straight as a rod in his seat, the will to keep his feet still and  _ not  _ swinging getting harder by the second. The doctor was so tall. Like a wall he could never climb (and why did he want to?), ever looming and blocking out the lights of the building. Something keeping the warmth from reaching him, the one obstacle keeping him climbing back into that small, warm, safe tube. 

His eyes stray to the large glass container behind the other monster, a nervous digging of fingers into his own hand as Papyrus thinks about being able to go back. People couldn’t touch him there. They didn’t really bother him and he hadn’t had to  _ talk,  _ hadn’t had to feel the needles  ~~ and the pain, pain, pain why didn’t it stop? Hadn’t the nice lady say he was important? That he was something unique? ~~ — or the way the floors made him so cold that his bone’s shuddered and shook involuntarily. 

“Stop doing that.” Papyrus stills his fingers slowly, pulling away as he looks down at his hand. He’d chipped it again. Why didn’t this hurt? The doctors sneers looking at the monitor stationed next to him. “You must be the most vacuous thing in creation to constantly fail at such simple directions.” 

The flinch that comes when the doctor grabs for him lives long past the needle is tugged free from his soul. “I haven’t decided if it’s a waste or a benefit that you’re too stupid to even conjure the intent to know what harm is. At least then I wouldn’t have to waste more resources on you.” 

Hands shaking in his lap Papyrus does his best to keep his head up (like S-1 had kept on trying to tell him) as the doctor gives a derisive sniff his lab coat swishing behind him as he digs through one of the cabinets in the room. He didn’t understand. Papyrus was doing his  _ best  _ or, at least what he thought was his best?

“Perhaps it should have been expected,” Gaster mutters to himself, items pulled one out after another to set on the alabaster counters before he goes to jot some notes down on his clipboard. “The passive series was never meant to be more intelligent than the strike series… if they’re all destined to be as simple as this dolt it’d be best to skip onto the next planned in the series.” 

He clicks his teeth and Papyrus shrinks in his seat behind him as the usually contained hold of the doctor’s song slips free bouncing in his head like a bullet. “Though taking into account S-1’s recent spike in progress and efficiency they may be able to service use as rewards, as unsound as the interest is.” A finger taps on the counter far too similar to the clock up above Papyrus’ head ticking away just how long he’d been in here. 

Gaster turns pulling a stool as well as a stuffed doll, placing them in the middle of the room. He snapped his fingers in front of Papyrus’ eyes, sneer never falling away. “You can see this can’t you? Or perhaps it is more than just your capacity to think that was damaged in your emergence.”

Papyrus nods another flinch at the snapped, “Your  _ words!  _ I know you can use them so make use of them.” 

“i-i can see it,” Another sneer. He tries to keep his shaking to a minimum (S-1 had told him to stay still around the doctor. To show no fear  ~~ it was so hard ~~ ) as the doctor motions to the doll. It looked so soft, but the doctor had no fondness for soft things beyond their use. 

Papyrus thinks that the doctor doesn’t get to be soft enough.  ~~ But that was probably just him being stupid like the doctor said. ~~

“Hit it. I know you are at least  _ capable  _ of something as simple as that.” 

Gaster steps to the side, hands going to rest behind his back. “Any time now,” He tacks on when Papyrus hesitates. “I don’t have all the time in the world to humor you.” 

With a scoff Gaster takes note of how under-developed the bone is, of how  _ weak  _ it is in comparison to S-1’s, of how it can’t even damage a  _ stuffed toy.  _ It was pathetic.  _ Useless.  _ He should have scrapped the thing all those months ago when P-2 refused his tank emergence. Gaster had wasted so  _ much  _ on him, and what did he get back?

An utterly useless vessel of magic. 

“Again.” 

And yet over and over and  _ over  _ P-2 kept  _ failing.  _ He was an insult to Gaster’s work, his genius, his accomplishments. Worst of all P-2 was a disgrace to his  _ authority.  _ Gaster produced results and this was not a positive result; this was a mockery.

“Again.”

No damage.

“Again.”

No damage. Trajectory off course. 

“Again.”

No damage.

“Again.”

No damage.

“Again.”

P-2 slumps in his chair with choked gasps, his chest rising and failing in uneven intervals. This was another disparity, by the time that S-1 was P-2’s his reserve of magic had swelled to twice the size of P-2’s own— perhaps because he had come out at his scheduled time? There was some change in the mixture unaccounted for with P-2? There had been more time for S-1 to develop outside his tube?— with numerous possibilities holding as candle to  _ why  _ there was such a change. 

Gaster clicks his teeth again. “Terrible. At this rate all you’ll be useful for is…” A slow grin takes over the doctor’s face as he takes a deliberate step forward, a hand going to push P-2 into sitting up once more. “I haven’t tested just how far S-1 is willing to push himself for something as silly as you— I had believed him to be a perfect weapon, but he’s just as foolish.” 

Papyrus whimpers sockets squeezing shut as cold (why were they so cold? Monsters could use magic to warm up and skeleton’s weren’t naturally devoid of warmth so why was it always so cold?) phalanges curl around his soul, a stamp of magic being enforced on it that makes it hard to breath. Tears well in the corner of his sockets as the song Papyrus is so used to being  _ part  _ of him is silenced. 

“I’ll leave it at this for now… perhaps another time I can test how quickly S-1 will complete his tasks when it’s completely removed?” Gaster muses removing his hand from P-2’s chest without even a pause as the monster curls up into a ball. “Come, there is no time for crying. You get that disgusting liquid on my floor and you will be cleaning it.” 

Papyrus sniffles, digging the balls of his hand over his eyes to try and stop them from falling as he stumbles to follow after the doctor. His shoes squeak with every step, too large for his feet and awkward sitting even with the ties S-1 had helped with as they pass through corridor after corridor of alabaster tile and corded steel. It all still confused him, it was also so big and so small at the same time, too much and too little, too. How was he supposed to remember on his own? He wasn’t very tall and he felt out of place no matter where he was and he didn’t  _ understand.  _

“Quit your sniveling.” It isn’t even a hiss now, just a disappointed drown that makes the tears harder to keep at bay. But Papyrus wouldn’t drop them on the floor! He could do that! He’d keep them cupped in his hands if he had to just to keep the doctor from calling him such bad things. The fish lady had said he was smart! That he just needed time! 

“yes doctor,” he mumbles wet and a little slow as he works out the words. They were hard. S-1 made it look so easy and it  _ wasn’t.  _ Sometimes Papyrus couldn’t think of the words he wanted, or knew the word to describe something, or even worse sometimes he couldn’t work up the ability to think of what to say at all. 

But the doctor liked verbal responses. S-1 didn’t make him talk when he didn’t want to… he didn’t get  _ angry  _ like the doctor did when his words didn’t come out like they were supposed to. It wasn’t fair. 

There’s a puddle of magic in his hands as Papyrus stubbornly makes sure absolutely none of it gets on the doctor’s floor (And it was such a long floor, but he would do it!) as they wind their way to the upper levels of the lab. His own room was lower, colder too. Papyrus shared the corridors with a lot of other monsters… none of them were as nice as S-1 was. They always tried to eat him. 

At least they were going to see S-1 now. “Silence yourself.” Papyrus sniffled again before trying to contort his skull in a way that he can stay quiet. Gaster scoffs, turning away from him to look through the glass into an open room. 

The doctor was testing S-1’s control today, or that’s how he had phrased it. Papyrus didn’t really understand… S-1 was always in control? He had control of his words— in a way that he couldn’t help but feel envious of— of his movements, of the way he treated Papyrus. The doctor had said none of that mattered. That the control S-1 had to learn was the ability to stop—to control if he did any damage at all. 

The tears continue to role down his face leaving a trail as Papyrus looks through the glass. There was a monster he’d never seen before all covered in metal and he wasn’t sure if there was a soul—he couldn’t hear any right now. 

He knew better than to interrupt the doctor’s quiet time though. Papyrus was just supposed to stand still and wait as the doctor pressed a finger to one of the buttons on the wall next to the door. S-1 had stopped the monster from moving. 

“Bravo. From these numbers it’s taken you significantly less time to figure out how to modify your damage output. We will continue this again tomorrow.” A pause as the doctor looks his way, a considering look crossing his face. Papyrus feels the swoop in his soul that drags it down to where his belly would be. 

“For your efforts,” Gaster enunciates slowly, a hand moving to yank Papyrus closer as the younger monster panics in his attempt to keep the overfilling liquid in his hands from falling. Such a stupid little thing. “You have earned some time with P-2.”

Time for Gaster to observe them and how quickly S-1 might deteriorate without a soul connection. Perhaps their bonding was simply a fluke? Something S-1 saw as stabilizing due to P-2’s soul song? It would be interesting to study if S-1 changed in his approach at all. They’d never be allowed in the older monster’s room alone—S-1 had been quite clever in his latest attempts at destroying his cameras to monitor him.

P-2’s cell was a much more useful area. 

Papyrus shakes in his hold like a terrified little animal— why couldn’t his predictions be proven wrong just this once? What use was the creature if all he was going to be was a chain to keep S-1 in line? And perhaps not even for very long— as Gaster presses another button for the door to unlock. 

An improvement. There was hardly any damage to his clothing this time. S-1 was getting faster. 

Scanning the creature before him, head held high and spine straight, as if  _ challenging  _ him Gaster chuckles. S-1 was so full of pride that he almost regretted fueling his complex. Nothing to worry about, he could always put S-1 back in his rightful place when he got to willful. 

A scowl overcomes S-1’s expression before he can even hope to mask it from the doctor’s sight. Setting his hands on P-2’s shoulders— feeling them  _ shake, shudder, rattle _ beneath his hold Gaster can’t help, but begrudgingly admit that the simpleton was capable of realizing when he was outmatched— Gaster squeeze’s carefully. A sign for him to keep his shaking to a minimum as the tears slowly start to trickle into nothing. It was disgusting. P-2 wasted magic on such useless functions. 

“His punishment for lackluster results this morning.” Gaster shares simply, never moving his hands away until S-1’s expression shifts into something more placid. The creature had quite the gall to get angry with  _ him  _ when Gaster created them. Blessed them with a home and food that so many other monsters went without—all they had to do to keep that was listen and perform adequately. Was that so much to ask?

“Isn’t that right, P-2?”

Besides. S-1 was clearly the superior of the two of them, it was good to cement the pecking order early, keep the two in rank and under his control. As long as S-1 saw himself as  _ responsible  _ for his weaker counterpart then Gaster would cultivate the disparity between them. As long as P-2 could be useful in S-1’s continuing growth then he could stay. When he no longer served a purpose? S-1 would be tasked with getting rid of him.

Useless things were removed after all. 

“yes, doctor,” it comes out small. Patting the creature’s head— because P-2 was so simple. He thrived off even the slight scrap of praise or affection. So easy to keep in line when compared to S-1— Gaster nudges him forward an amused curl to his face when S-1 steps in front of him. 

S-1 really was misguided in his thinking. Certain that he would be able to keep P-2 for a long while, so certain that he was something  _ worth  _ keeping around. Well, that’s what this little experiment was for after all. 

“I trust you know the way back to your room.” His lab coat swishes along the floor as P-2 starts up his nervous shaking again, “I will retrieve you in a few hours time. Enjoy it while it lasts.” 

***

They’d been going in circles for the last ten minutes. With a sigh and a curl of his fingers into his own hand— because Sans didn’t trust himself to  _ grab  _ the other monster right now. Not after his magic was still incensed with the need to  _ harm, throttle, decimate _ — Sans looks down at the smaller monster, a hesitant search for the abnormally quiet song of Papyrus’ on going. 

It was… unprecedented this disappearance. That Papyrus might  _ keep  _ it from him when Sans often used it as a way to calm down when the Good Doctor would permit it. Perhaps another test of his companions' own? If so Papyrus was doing astonishingly well. Even if his own soul wasn’t quite as settled. 

“WHAT ARE YOU SEARCHING FOR.”

Papyrus’ face scrunches up as his shoes covered feet plod away on the floor, hands still cupped in bowl like form to keep the magic collected from falling. Frankly, he should just drink it in Sans’ opinion. Make was magic and it never changed. 

“waste disposal?” A sink. Because the Good Doctor never used anything besides one built specifically for toxic hazards and as such that was all Papyrus knew to call it. With a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth Sans makes a silent note in his head to make a trip to his room for some books. They’d do more to help Papyrus’ vocabulary. 

It might help him be more confident. He might not be certain of his perfection, but Sans certainly was. They were two sides of the same coin—their perfection was just displayed in different ways.

Papyrus was still young. Still grasping his individuality despite what the Good Doctor would tell him; Papyrus was certainly created for a singular reason but greatness couldn’t be confined.

There’s no answer to the hesitant encouragement he tries to send his companion. No shift in Papyrus’ song that always shows he’s happy or appeased… it’s odd. He’d never been able to do it before.

His own churns in restlessness a barely held back hiss at something it considers  _ normal; (why is it gone? _ The beast stirs annoyance evident in the way it’s twists Sans’ magic: where _ is the song? The serenity! Give it to me!). _

Shoving the voice out of mind Sans steps forward, hands still resting behind his back— there was no tiny hand moving to grab on his own— so that Papyrus can keep track of him.

“THIS WAY. YOU CAN DUMP IT IN THE BATHROOM’S SINK.”

“waste disposal?” Papyrus inquires his steps more sure when he isn’t forced to rush.

Sans nods. “THAT IS ANOTHER WORD FOR IT, YES.”

“sink,” Papyrus repeats to himself, gaze flicking from Sans’ back to his hands, and then back up again. “in the sink not the floor.”

With another nods Sans goes the door open for Papyrus to squeeze past him. Still too small to reach it on his own. 

With a step forward and a critical look at his hands— they were meant to hurt. What if he hurt Papyrus?— Sans hesitantly reaches for the smaller monster—

“no!”

Sans blinks.

“i can… i can do it.” The doctor said he relied too much on S-1. Papyrus would prove that he could do things! 

Hands going to rest behind his back once more, Sans gives another nod. It was probably for the better, Sans didn’t think trying to grab him was very smart yet. There was still a chance he might hurt his counterpart if he reached for Papyrus with how unsteady he’s feeling.

Slowly the minutes pass by as Papyrus scrunches his face a little step of stairs forming little by little until it’s enough for him to use, a hesitant little smile forming on his face.

“CREATIVE.” He praises, “DON’T FORGET TO WASH THEM.”

The Good Doctor might not realize it, but Papyrus was quite creative. He had a love for any and all of the books Sans shared with him, and could be very innovative when it came to decorating his room in ways the Good Doctor couldn’t remove.

It’s only when Papyrus has cleaned up that Sans goes through with the normal process of breaking his thumb to get the stripped band off. The Good Doctor still wouldn’t provide Papyrus with a signifier of his own and thus it was his job to look after the younger.

With a motion of his hand Papyrus scuttles down and over pausing right in front of him. With a pat to his head Papyrus beams.

“HEAD UP.”

Papyrus rocks on his heels before hesitantly lifting his chin— as he always should. Papyrus should take pride in himself. Just like Sans did— fingers plucking at the hem of his shirt.

Too large still Sans notes with a bit of distaste. Pants too with an old cord acting as a belt—not very effectively. It didn’t keep the hem of Papyrus’ pants from dipping below his heels.

The band fits like it does every other time until the Good Doctor takes it off; snug and secure. A bit of defense to make up for Papyrus’ stats.

He nods to himself. “GOOD. BOOKS?”

Papyrus latches onto the cuff of his Sans’ shirt (Smart. His defense was so poor at the moment that even an accidental nick might do some damage, minimal as Sans would try to keep it), “books.” He confirms.

***

“still look?” Sans hums in reply to the question from the other side of the door. The dictionary was on the top shelf ; he just had to figure out what else he wanted to share with Papyrus today. “flower book?”

“YOU ALWAYS PICK THAT ONE.”

There’s no swirl of petulant indignity from Papyrus’ soul as usual when it comes to his book choices. A frown twists on his face as he prods at Papyrus’ soul with a bit of his magic it was… ugly. Splotched with something that shouldn’t be there.

“i like it.” Papyrus says simply the quiet knock of his feet against the floor acting as background noise to Sans' search.

Plucking the book off its place on the shelf (third from the bottom. Seventh in the row), Sans makes the decision to grab the notebook and a pencil off his desk. They’d been filling it slowly with Papyrus’ practice words. The Good Doctor was quite negligent with his counterpart.

With everything in hand Sans strides out Papyrus following him dutifully even as he winds and twists their way to an area Papyrus himself hasn’t explored yet. Once they’ve made it to the area with the largest blind spot (Sans had checked. With every visit to the Good Doctor’s observatory room he made sure to note when the camera's view ended. The southernmost corridor from his own room had a blind spot just under it and no cameras in the room it was connected to. It was perfect. 

Setting the books and pencil down to the side Sans peers down at his counterpart with a quirked brow, a stern set to his mouth as Papyrus rocks on his heels, fingers going back to nervously plucking his shirt. “WHAT HAPPENED.” 

“nothin’...” 

“PAPYRUS,” Papyrus tilts his head down, words muffling into the cotton of his shirt. “CARE TO REPEAT THAT?”

“‘s punishment.” Papyrus mumbles fingers starting to inch for the top of his hand again, a nervous itch starting up. Sans narrows his eye sockets the beast starts to hiss in the back of his mind a soft chant of:  _ get it back get it back get it back!  _ never ceasing no matter how much Sans tried to ignore the thing. “mentioned tests.” 

“FOR ME?” He prompts. Papyrus gives a half-shrug, gaze fixed on the tile beneath their feet. “PAPYRUS WHAT DID HE DO?”

“he made it quiet.” 

Sans doesn’t even need to look down at his hands to see how the phalanges have sharpened and grown at the soft admission. He wants to  _ rend  _ the Good Doctor, seal his soul into silence like he’s done to Papyrus and never let it up. The monster wasn’t even worth  _ devouring  _ for the power— he was nothing good. A rotten meal in an otherwise nice looking spread of food that made up their world. 

“CAN I SEE IT.” Sans tries to keep his tone soft, keep the way his teeth want to grind and gnash together to a minimum, how desperately he wants to  _ destroy  _ the Good Doctor. It was too early. He didn’t have a stable foot outside of this lab yet—hadn’t even  _ seen  _ outside of it. 

Papyrus fidgets a nervous swallow so loud in the empty room they’ve hidden in. “i don’t… i don’t wanna show it.” 

“OKAY.” The Good Doctor had done enough today. Sans wasn’t about to make his counterpart show off something he was so clearly ashamed of  it was tainted and it wouldn’t be right . Even as the beast hisses for conformation, urges for a visual of the blasphemy the Good Doctor has committed. 

Turning on his heel Sans scoops up the books. “COME. I AM TAKING YOU BACK. YOU WILL DO YOUR PRACTICE WHILE I HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH THE DOCTOR.”

“no!” Papyrus’ shoes squeak as he grabs onto Sans’ sleeve digging the heel of his feet into the tile to try and get him to stop. “he’ll get mad at me! both of us! i don’t want him mad. he calls me bad things when he’s mad s-1!” 

His socket twitches at the stubborn refusal to use the name Sans was  _ given _ , but he keeps it off his tongue as he stops, spine an iron rod and gaze as fixed as tempered steel. “HE  _ TOOK  _ SOMETHING OF YOURS.” It’s a hiss as the beast urges him forward to get Papyrus to  _ understand _ — this was a slight against them  _ both.  _ The Good Doctor had taken something from  _ them _ and Sans  _ would not stand for it. _ “SOMETHING THAT WASN’T HIS TO TAKE, PAPYRUS. HE WANTS ME TO PROVE THAT YOU’RE WORTH SOMETHING AND  _ I WILL _ . SO LET ME GO.” 

Papyrus whimpers, “please don’t. he doesn’t like me, i want him to like me!” 

His claws curl as Sans takes a steadying breath letting the smaller monster wind his arms around his middle in both a hug and an attempt to anchor Sans in place ( _ smart  _ the beast croons  _ so smart, but so misguided in his belief. _ Sans couldn’t help but agree. The Good Doctor had no care for them), as he slowly starts to will his claws back to their normal shape; sharp still but needle length. 

“I JUST WANT TO TALK TO HIM,” Sans tries to soothe his one free hand awkwardly hovering above Papyrus’ back—it wasn’t safe to touch him.  _ Sans wasn’t safe yet _ ~~ ( And he should be ~~ ) he wouldn’t risk it. Papyrus digs his head further into where his stomach would be. With a swallow and hand straight as an arrow he strokes Papyrus’ head once, “I WON’T GET YOU IN TROUBLE. YOU CAN TRUST ME TO DO THAT CAN’T YOU?”

_ Say yes say yes say yes say yes say yes say yes say yes say yes say yes say _ —

“you  _ promise?”  _

Sans stills as if he was shot. Promises were… sacred things from what his book said. Could he keep that? Could the  _ beast  _ keep one? He swallows again, “I—”

“please promise s-1.” 

“SANS.” He corrects. Hand shaking where it floats above Papyrus’ head, an urge to both comfort and flee intertwining itself through his body for a war he had never signed up for. 

“ _ sans,”  _ it’s still muffled into the fabric of his clothes, “can you promise me he won’t get mad at me?” 

“OKAY,” It’s more a rush of air than a completely formed thought and acceptance. Sans could treat this like a test—  _ had to treat this like a test.  _ He couldn’t fail or there’d be consequences. For both of them. But… they  _ both  _ needed to have their songs. 

Sans was… restless without Papyrus’ to help calm him down antsy without an enjoyment that wasn’t filled to knuckle with violence. Papyrus? He  _ needed his song.  _ His words were clumsy and he got embarrassed over them but his song  _ helped _ . Let Sans know what he wanted, what he didn’t, what he liked and disliked. Papyrus used it to  _ communicate  _ and he  _ needed that.  _

“do i still have to go back?” His arms squeeze even tighter around Sans’ middle, like a koala refusing to leave it;s tree. i don’t like it… the other monsters don’t feel nice.” 

“UNFORTUNATELY… IF I COULD I WOULD LET YOU STAY IN MY ROOM FOR THE TIME BEING, BUT THE DOCTOR HASN’T GIVEN EITHER OF US PERMISSION FOR THAT.”

And Sans didn’t want to push his privileges past the point of no return— even if he really wanted to. 

Papyrus gives another long squeeze before letting his arms drop, a slump to his shoulders. “still read later?”

“OF COURSE.” It just might be a little later than either of them wanted. 

Tiny fingers grab onto the edge of his shirt sleeve with a mumbled, (“okay”) as Sans leads him back to his room, the turns being just the slightest bit more recognizable this time. The passcode to Papyrus’ area isn’t even required as it buzzes open as soon as they step in front of it— the Good Doctor no doubt— and Sans lets him sit at his little table with his book and pencil. 

“YOU REMEMBER WHAT TO DO DON’T YOU?”

“look through the book and write down the words i like the most… we’ll go over meanings when you get back?”

He nods, an attempt at a smile as Papyrus starts before he strides his way to the Good Doctor’s quarters. This was going to go one of two ways.

*** 

It went the bad way.

With a groan his eyes come to life the infirmary lights blinding him with an intensity they never usually do. Scrunching his sockets closed once more Sans tries to shift a hand to cover the lights with no avail. The Good Doctor hadn’t went easy on him. 

“ _ You think you’re the one that’s going to give the orders now do you? Don’t you know there’s always a fall with pride.” _

Sans hadn’t meant to escalate it into anything past trying to negotiate with the other monster. Hadn’t meant to get so incensed with the way the Good Doctor kept referring to Papyrus as a  _ thing that shouldn’t be seen let alone heard  _ and instead of pushing to do the tests he wanted then and there in return for the lifting of whatever the Good Doctor had done he’d—

There’s arms around him — thin as a bird’s bone and  _ oh there’s the calm he’d missed _ — even as Sans tries to blink once more, a startled jerk coming from him that causes Papyrus to jump when Sans realizes he  _ can’t see.  _ Not out of his left at least. 

There’s a tsk and then Papyrus is being motioned away despite his muffled, (“no! why? he woke up!”) and Sans can’t even turn to look at him can’t even work up the energy to summon something ( _ anything anything anything what are you doing he’s going away!)  _ to get whatever has him to let him  _ go. _

“He needs rest still.” the usurper. As much as Sans tries to get his face to shift in a barring of teeth at her voice— at her  _ manhandling  _ of his counterpart— nothing so much as twitches. “I said you could stay in here with him, but if you climb on him you will make his condition worse.” 

“but he was gone so long…” 

How long? It couldn’t have been too long. The Good Doctor didn’t like setbacks even when he implemented his more… extensive punishments. It had been quite a while since Sans had opponents that could give him a thrill on their own— it had nearly been a massacre from the drugs the Doctor had put into their system, made them lose any sense of self besides the fact that Sans was something to consume. 

Head still heavy and unable to move well,  _ any  _ part of his body Sans works up the energy to stop hiding his soul. It’s what he would do any way when it came to… offering comfort. It wasn’t something he was used to, didn’t really understand, but the book was right. Papyrus seemed to like it even if Sans couldn’t give it very open. The usurper didn’t matter right now. 

What mattered right now is his counterpart not being so disappointed and getting his mouth to work. His song is slow, heavy, going through a struggle of its own as Sans pushed all he could into letting it respond to the nervous tremble if Papyrus’ own— Heavy. So, so very heavy in a way it shouldn’t be. What had happened to Papyrus while he was recovering?

Undyne sighs, putting the shorter monster back onto the stool with a firm look to keep him from moving any closer to the bed. Clearing her throat she adjusts her glasses, “Your left eye is currently covered by a protective bandage to stem the flow of magic you were losing. There’s a chance that you might not be able to see out of it when I take it off due to the circumstances of your fight.”

Sans can’t even work up the energy to snap at her, just lay there with no energy to move— no that he’d be able to with how strapped down he was— and pathetic song to reassure Papyrus that he wasn’t going anywhere. They were in this together—Sans certainly couldn’t leave him now after the Doctor had revealed what he really thought.

“Several parts of your body had clean breaks from your… fight. I estimate them to fully heal within a week's time with the added boost of magic to your system.” He wishes he could spit the fact that he couldn’t  _ feel his magic.  _ Undyne rolls her eyes at the blank stare Sans can pin her with. “A sedative. For your and now my and the rest of the staff’s safety.”

“sans is safe.” His song jumps at the admission something calming at the words even after he’d made the younger monster go back to his room. 

She sighs again, massaging her temple as her headache shifts into a migraine. “You’re quite lucky the Doctor sees you as invaluable. He’s put down other experiments for smaller offences.” 

_ Because we’re perfect _ the beast rumbles in the back of his mind, subdued and slow in its own way. They were one and the same after all. One of them had better control was the only difference; Sans wasn’t sure who. 

“P-2 has been allowed out of his room to keep you company. The Doctor believed it was only right to let him be around you now,”  _ to let him see how Sans had failed  _ is what that really meant. Show Papyrus that nothing could keep him safe when it came to what the Doctor wanted. “I will be here to monitor you whenever he is around.”

No talking. No privacy. 

A hand comes into view hazy and colorful with the initial movement as Papyrus moves a blanket around his shoulders. It was Papyrus’ something earned while Sans had been under. With another blink Sans tries to focus on the different colors before they disappear.

A blanket and a striped shirt. Apparently the fight had convinced the Doctor of something, even if it wasn’t much. Papyrus was useful. 

His song goes quiet as the bit of energy he had runs out, an ostentatiously bright blanket tossed over his shoulders and under his chin. 

***

It was the night after the various casts were removed that Sans woke up to a bundle tucked into his side, squeezed between his arm and his hip. The bandage on his eye still hadn’t been removed as there was still a leakage that hadn’t sealed shut entirely, but Sans itched to tear it off anyway. 

Looking down at the ball next to him he scans the room for any sign of Undyne, or even worse, the Doctor himself. Finding nothing he heaves a sigh, twisting his body in a way that he’s curled around the other monster… this was something he’d never got to do before.

He’d read about it of course— when the Doctor started to allow him to get books and he started his sneaking— that children might feel more comfortable ( _ safe)  _ with someone else, that sometimes they liked to hug things in their sleep… and it wasn’t like Papyrus had anything else. He’d learned as quick as Sans did that the Doctor was not a very nice man. 

Huddling closer he keeps his hands gripped onto the metal on the other side of Papyrus to make sure that there’d be no accidental scratches while they slept. 

If Papyrus felt safe with him— which was good. Sans might have been created for a singular purpose (broke several rules regarding it), he’d learned that the Doctor wasn’t always right. It was okay to feel safe around him, he had control over himself— then Sans wasn’t going to argue with the other monster. 

Breathing easier in this position— his back to the door. Hiding the smaller form with his own. Sans could take more hits than he could. Could deal with the Doctor more efficiently— Sans lets his eye slip closed once more. 

Unknown to him up in the monitoring room Undyne was awake and altering the footage in the infirmary to have it loop only Sans in the bed. She’d retrieve P-2 before it was time for Sans’ check up the next morning. 

She’d been taking care of the younger monster since the Doctor had decided to try and punish him too. The shirt? From her digging through the dumpster on her hands and knees when she could get tasked with supply runs. She’d been altering the footage in P-2’s cell each and every night to make it seem like he was sleeping in there—  _ free  _ to the hounds and more volatile of the Doctor’s experiments— and not with his counterpart. She’d been looking after him ever since the Doctor decided that motivation wasn’t enough to give him relative immunity. 

No. Now that child had to run through the halls in fear every day that Undyne couldn’t work her schedule around him and lead him to his scheduled tests or safe zones. The Doctor had called it a  _ way to measure his survivability without a stronger monster issuing protection though items.  _ Undyne was young herself… and she knew that their world was tough, but children were supposed to be exempt from it. 

She was a scientist… had a bit of a messy record on her own, but she’d never thought she would get so  _ attached  _ to them. When she agreed to this job, this  _ apprenticeship  _ and been able to send a decent amount of gold to her family, she’d been ecstatic. Then she’d learned that the Barrier project… hadn’t been what she’d thought it was. What any of them had thought it was. 

A lot of them had left. Giving up the money and sworn to secrecy— though Undyne suspected that the Doctor had done something to them— the rest of them? They stayed around to try and keep the  _ children  _ as safe as they could. They couldn’t do much but they tried. 

Leaning back in her chair Undyne keeps her eye on the clock. 

***

As soon as Undyne opens the infirmary door there’s a blaster in her face, nose puffing out air and a gaze of  _ red  _ pining her in her spot. Raising her hands she looks toward the bed, not at all surprised by a singular eye focused on her in derision, Sans’ body hunched over P-2’s still resting one. 

“He needs to eat.” She says inching another step closer when no beam is immediately shot off. Undyne was well aware of Sans’ thoughts about them all— particularly of  _ her.  _ That he saw her as a threat because of how closely she worked with the Doctor— and how that most of them were on his ‘bad list’ when it came to him (and she suspected even worse) and P-2. 

“HE’S STILL SLEEPING.” 

She snorts. “I can see that. I am not blind.” Sans bares his teeth. “If he doesn’t eat now he doesn’t  _ get to eat at all.”  _ She and the other assistants or apprentices could only sneak him some food at specific times. When Doctor Gaster was occupied with the core or out of the lab to talk to the Queen and her council. 

After that Undyne rushed through all the tests she could with him before the Doctor was back to take over. They only had a little more time before the Queen came down to see them both and… maybe it was selfish, but Undyne did in a sad way, think the lab was better than the rest of the world. Gaster was cruel, yes, but she knew that he wouldn’t dust them if they continued to produce results.

Outside of the lab? There were certainly child protection laws put into place since the Queen had her own son… but they were flimsy at best with how many loopholes people could use to avoid getting out of trouble, and the farther they were from the capital— because Undyne  _ isn’t  _ sure if the Queen would place them somewhere else once she deemed them fit to integrate with the rest of society— the less likely it was that someone wouldn’t threaten them. Possibly try to  _ dust  _ them (not that she thought they would be east too, but the sentiment still stands) and if they failed? Who was to say that Sans wouldn’t go on a rampage as he was so known to do on occasion.

The red flares. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE DOESN’T GET TO  _ EAT?” _

“The Doctor is… testing something new.” Because Undyne couldn’t be honest. Not when she was the only thing in between P-2 actually getting food and a few hours— at best— of tests he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable with versus none at all if Sans kept her from doing her job. “So are you going to let me take him or do I have to give you another sedative.” 

“LET ME GO WITH HIM.” She quirks a brow slowly making her way forward. Both Sans and herself were decently tall for monster’s their age, so Papyrus hardly looking bigger than a throw pillow was no surprise. “HE CAME HERE BECAUSE HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE ALONE.”

“You’re on bed rest.” Sans’ socket narrows as she slowly untangles the other skeleton, sweat beading on her brow at the creak of a jaw. “It would be better for you to—“

“LET ME GO.” The blaster has crept forward, puff of air against her neck as Sans starts to make his own way off the bed. 

He fails to mask a wince when he sets his feet on the floor, but besides that Undyne can’t argue that he should stay put— Doctor Gaster had made it quite clear that tomorrow would be Sans’ last rest day. 

“ _ GIVE HIM.” _

Undyne rolls her eyes, coat swishing behind her as she works her way to the break room. One of the others was on camera duty right now. “And give you the chance to shoot me? Think again. Keep up if you’re that worried.”

P-2 was still snoring softly. Children were supposed to look like this; content, comfortable,  _ safe.  _ They weren’t… they weren’t experiments. Smoothing a hand over his shirt, Undyne rolls up one of his sleeves, tsking quietly.

A suck of air next to her, “WHAT  _ HAPPENED  _ TO HIM.” Despite the placid tone Undyne can sense the anger already boiling. No doubt the reasoning wouldn’t please Sans either.”

“He can’t help it.” Undyne shares quietly, rolling the sleeve back down. She’d make sure they were taken care of after he ate something. “I’m sure you know about his inability to cause harm?”

“HE’S A LATE BLOOMER!” Sans defends fists curling to keep himself from taking the other monster out of her hands.

Undyne clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she shakes her head. “No. The Doctor has learned to quite some certainty that he  _ can’t.  _ Our magic is based on intent. P-2—”

“ _ PAPYRUS.”  _ Sans interrupts.

“— can understand certain things and can name them in others and himself, but he can’t recognize the intent to harm within himself— and the Doctor is testing whether he can form that intent at all even if he might not recognize it. As such he can’t use his magic offensively like you or I can.” 

Hefting the skeleton higher in her arms, Undyne makes the last turn that leads to the break room, Sans unnervingly silent behind her. For a child Sans had overdeveloped reserves of magic and an uncanny ability to understand what he could do with it; much of it in part because of the Doctor’s testing since his ability to walk. P-2 on the other hand had mostly been spared— though for how long it would last now? None of them knew— from combat training due to her and the others’ arguments that P-2 might better serve a purpose as a reward and a punishment. Operant conditioning they’d all agreed. 

It had worked for a while when Sans and P-2 had  _ bonded  _ in some way. None of them really sure how or why, but they had a mostly positive relationship. Then, Sans had kept on deviating. Deviating from the behaviors he was rewarded for and kept on pushing at the line of when he’d be punished, challenged them all for more rewards in return with more rigorous ventures, went against the Doctor’s rules for his counterpart, started  _ ignoring  _ the Doctor all together at some point. And then the latest slight? Trying to bargain with the Doctor and then getting aggressive with him. 

That had gotten rid of their theory that operant conditioning could keep Sans in line with something he seemed to like. In a domino effect P-2 lost the safety he  _ did  _ have— as minor as they may be— with the Doctor actively putting him in rooms where he had to dodge, or one of the assistance had to rush and convince the oldest monster that the test could be finished. 

It had been… a difficult time with Sans in a medically induced coma to let his body heal without stress or worry. 

Shaking the child awake in her arms Undyne tries not to feel slighted at his frightened jolt, Sans pausing behind her to loom. (She hoped that the admission that P-2  _ couldn’t  _ assist him in battle like he’d hoped hadn’t damned the child’s chances. Undyne was so tired of death) The fear was to be expected. They tried to help P-2 when they could get away with it but… Undyne suspected that he had already started to correlate the lab coats to potential pain even if they did what they could to keep it from happening. 

She smiles, bright and wide letting him come down from his fear on his own. “You remember me yes?”

“fish lady,” Papyrus mumbles, eyes diverted to the wall. He wasn’t good at names. It was something they’d learned quite early. The Doctor liked to insult him but that was because the man didn’t understand that children weren’t always going to be hyper-intelligent or grasp things as quickly as others. “go back.” 

Huffing she shakes her head leading him into the kitchen area. One of the other apprentices had scrounged up some supplies for him. It was another perk about living under the Royal Scientists… Doctor Gaster got first pick of any of the resources distributed. 

“None of that. You know you have to eat Sans is—”

“HERE.” He cuts in stepping out from where he’d been drilling a hole in the back of her head. “EAT.” 

P-2 relaxes, slow and pliant at the sight of his counterpart. Undyne sighs, setting him down on the floor to let him pick a chair for himself. It seemed that P-2 still took some safety from simply having Sans nearby. 

She puts a hand in front of the monster next to her when Sans takes a step closer to try and help the smaller monster climb a chair. “He won't respond well to it.” She can feel the baleful stare focused on the side of her head, as if wishing it would just burst like an over-ripe berry. “His… individual achievements are a testy situation right now.”

All P-2 wanted to do was prove that he wasn’t useless, that the Doctor didn’t have to insult his intelligence or his capabilities and… Undyne knew what it was. Just the Doctor trying to incite some kind or rivalry or rift to separate them. Sans was… older, sure of his status in the hierarchy and more than capable of asserting it. P-2 was the scapegoat, the one that the Doctor would blame and heckle and show no favoritism for because he didn’t come out the way he was expected to. 

Sans trying to help might be good for  _ him,  _ but Undyne could very easily say that him doing it right now in a way to connect with P-2 would end badly. All the youngest monster was trying to do now was show the Doctor that he was capable of things. 

Scowling Sans doesn’t reach for him and goes to sit in the seat at the head of the table pushing the food toward him when P-2 finally manages to clamber up onto the hair, legs far from even touching the floor. “ARE YOU GOING TO LOOK AT HIS WOUNDS OR NOT?”

“In a moment. Let him finish.” Dragging the kit out from under one of the counters Undyne waits until P-2 shoves the last crumb of food into his mouth before digging out a pill and various plasters. “Can you roll up your sleeves for me, P-2?

“ _ PAPYRUS.”  _ Sans corrects glare settled on her once more. 

“p-2,” Papyrus said quietly, fingers inching up the fabric to show off the various chips in his bone and fingers. Sans resists the urge to grab him and pump as much green magic as he can at the sight. “doctor doesn’t call me papyrus.” 

Undyne grabs the first arm carefully, decorating it with new plasters all white and dull before she hands him a sickly green pill. “Take this. They’ll seal up on their own in a bit after, okay?” 

Papyrus nods tugging the sleeve back down with a nervous twitch of his fingers. “tests?” 

Undyne nods. “Nothing that involves anyone else today. He might make you do one on your healing time with that pill, but no other monsters today.” She stands pausing to let Papyrus shimmy down on his own before turning to Sans. “It might be best for you to return to the infirmary.” 

Papyrus peeks back at him too, with the shyest wave of his hands that he’s ever given and something feels like it breaks when he grabs onto the hem of Undyne’s sleeve instead of arguing that Sans could go with him. Or that he didn’t make them leave. 

“HE DOESN’T HAVE TO TRY AND DO THINGS HE DOESN'T WANT TO. THAT’S WHAT I’M FOR.”

The empty room doesn’t have anything to offer back.

***

They’re in the break room again. The Doctor wasn’t coming back for a day or so because of some development with the Queen and her family. Undyne had ushered them there as soon as she and the other staff received news of the Doctor’s departure. There were no tests. No fights today. Nothing to get rid of the itch in his hands.

“WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON TODAY.” Papyrus pauses, a nervous turn to his smile— to his soul that makes an odd kind of drop in Sans’ own. It was hesitant now when they interacted— as he turns the paper Sans’ way (not the notebook they always used before), uneven scribbles of letters on the page. “DO YOU HAVE A NEW WORD YOU LIKE?”

Papyrus nods after a minute, a tiny finger tracing under the word dewberry. He huffs reading the description, “it’s a plant!” Because even now after they’d probably read through that book more time should be allowed Papyrus seemed to love plants. Papyrus hunches in his seat, chin balancing on the edge of the able. “why does he like you more?” 

Undyne— as much as he didn’t  _ really  _ trust her, had told him quite a bit of Papyrus’ new worries (Sans had… not taken it well at first)— had warned him that Papyrus might go to him for questions about this. On why the Doctor might not treat him the same as he did Sans. 

Taking a moment to think ( _ because the man is ignorant  _ the beast hums, content for the day to just sit and wait) of the best way to answer, Sans’ fingers point to a new word for Papyrus to practice with out of habit. He didn’t know who’d been keeping up his counterpart’s studies, but Sans was a little thankful for it. 

“HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THAT YOU’RE,” what? Important? Sans had said that before numerous times and it didn’t seem to click. Papyrus might not be up to hurting things, but he was improving. He didn’t tire as quickly, or run out of magic as quick, and his aim had improved even if it didn’t do damage. It was  _ improvement _ and the Doctor didn’t seem to understand that. “JUST AS POWERFUL AS ME. HE ONLY UNDERSTANDS OVERT DISPLAYS. YOURS ARE MORE SUBDUED.”

Papyrus whistles through his nose, a petulant pout forming. The book had said to reassure? “WHEN YOU HAD TO MANEUVER THROUGH THE MAZE,” An eye looks up at him, “I JUST BARREL MY WAY THROUGH WITH FORCE. YOU FIGURED OUT THE FASTEST ROUTE AND FOUND PLACES TO SQUEEZE THROUGH. YOU’RE JUST DIFFERENT FROM ME BUT JUST AS GOOD.” 

It was their first test together. Sans… had more or less figured to do that same thing he always did when faced with a challenge; go against it head on and without fear. Dodging was useful of course and he implemented it against experiments he hadn’t encountered very often, but getting rid of the threat as fast as possible? Most efficient. Papyrus had other ideas. 

He’d started drawing little arrows in the ground in the more malleable areas of the maze, found places he could squeeze through to help Sans. He  _ studied  _ the maze and its components and found the least dangerous route. 

Papyrus was the mind of their duo when it came to anything that resembled a puzzle or had a way he could go without violence. Sans took care of the things that tried to impede his progress. 

“you really think so?” The song creeps out of its quiet little bubble jaunty and eager and Sans sighs relaxing in his seat at the sound. It helped. It always helped when he was antsy (it was so  _ slow  _ and  _ warm  _ in comparison to his own song that far too often refused to reduce in tempo) and he needed something to keep him from being rash. It was almost like a lullaby without sleep.

“I WOULDN’T LIE WOULD I?”

“... no.” 

“THEN YOU’RE JUST AS POWERFUL AS ME.” A tiny smile makes its way on Papyrus’ face as he scoots his chair closer. 

“could you help again? they always look neater when you explain it.” Taking the pencil from Papyrus’ hands Sans breaks the letters down section by section for him until there’s something for his counterpart to copy step by step. “thanks.”

Sans nods, arms crossing in front of his chest as he gives the patrons of the room the worst glare he can muster at his age— even with one eye still covered it was effective— holding it firm until they all turn away. Papyrus’ work was none of their business, he could take all the time he needed for things to click.

He was here to deal with the difficult things until the Doctor got what was coming to him. That included putting the ingrates into their places when they thought they could stare at them as if they were some exhibit! 

“BETTER.” Sans praises when the word comes out neater. “ONTO THE NEXT ONE. AFTER YOU FINISH A FEW MORE I’LL GET THE FLOWER BOOK.”

If only the Doctor would disappear more often. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got a bit longer than I thought this section would be, but I'm pretty happy with it. As always please let me know if i missed something I should have tagged, or included in the content warnings.
> 
> [the blog](https://little-guy-writes.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: The start of gaslighting and the implantation of false memories.

Hide away where you're safe

Where your heart doesn't break

You're afraid, it's okay, it's okay

\-  [ Dance in the Dark ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feyiDMQCNXk) , Au/Ra

* * *

The halls looked darker than normal. Dark, darker, yet darker the further he went. The cameras were on. The still-bright crimson of the light bearing down on him as if he was a target; ready, set, bang.

Sans wouldn’t be surprised if the Doctor ever added such a function, it was up his alley—a hallway of death for them to navigate to get the right to sleep in their individual rooms. As if they really weren’t anything more than rats to watch as they scurried about.

Oh, right. That’s what they were. Each and every living thing in the lab was just the Doctor’s personal test subjects. There was no escape, no breaks, no rest for the weary. And certainly no way out of the cycle.

Looking around the walls Sans stood still as his mind worked through what area of the lab he was in. It was designed to be tricky to navigate unless you forced yourself to remember the entire layout—something he’d mastered early in his life when the Doctor had used LV manic monsters to chase him.

The monitoring room, he decided, when he noticed the numerous crevices the Doctor had planted cameras in. He was paranoid. Monitored this area and the Core the most heavily out of every other area in the facility.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT.” Sans mumbled to himself as he walked down the hallway. The marble under his boots creaked in a way they never had before, as if there was a thin string keeping it from collapsing. 

Summoning a bone without pause Sans stepped atop it. Better to use it than the whole floor giving away beneath him. The few lights that flickered ahead dim until it’s through sheer muscle memory and stubbornness that Sans was able to navigate the last few of the winding tunnels that made up this section of the lab.

The whirr of the Core gets louder the scent of something metallic and tangy in the air. 

_ Dust _ the Beast rumbles flickering into existence behind him. It was bigger now. So large it could devour him in a single bite if it wished to.  _ Dust and something wet. _

Sans continued on. There was a dripping sound every few feet as if he was getting closer, his hearing becoming hyper-focused on this new entity. Stepping down when the floor doesn’t look as unstable the Beast puffs air out of its nostrils,  _ Closer. I can taste the potential.  _

The words echoed in his head as Sans entered the monitoring room. The individual TV’s were still on, film clear and enough to make his magic hiss. It was something small. Something small and wielding a gun like Undyne had been telling him about—it must have been quite a while ago that the intruder made their way inside.

The video flickered black before starting up again, the intruder’s form starting at the top of the stairs to the entrance to the less welcoming areas of the lab. Monsters seemed to screech at the sight of them—dust covered and gaze unseeing—as the Intruder ambled forward the toy-like gun popping off in a way that Sans knew shouldn’t happen. 

It was wooden. Or, it  _ looked  _ wooden. And wood didn’t bang, not the way that this one did. The noise burst around in his head like a warning as the Intruder continued, destroying monster after monster regardless of if they tried to fight or run, they continued until the film flickered out, and Sans’s eyes slid onto the next monitor. 

_ Power,  _ It rumbled again, gaze riveted to the monitor just like Sans’s own attention.  _ Devour it whole.  _ **_Tame it._ ** _ Make it our own.  _ It wasn’t a bad plan. Claws curling into his palm Sans continued his watching as the Intruder made their way to the cells. 

Their steps echoed off the marble of the floor, an unnerving noise for such a small creature. They looked smaller than him, around the same size of Pap—

**Bang.**

His teeth bared at the film the Beast chanting  _ hunt, hunt, hunt! Chase it! Kill it! Devour the creature!  _ as they both watched something slump in what would be Papyrus’s cell.

His head hurt. Feet stumbling away Sans cradled his head only noticing that the  _ dripping  _ was coming from him. A heavy, magic thick marrow fell from his head, traveled down the curve of his skull, and then:  _ drip, drip, dripped. _

Wave of nausea coming over him, Sans leaned against the Beast to keep himself steady as he looked back up to the monitors. It wasn’t Papyrus. It was him. The Intruder has shot him.

The film continued. He could see himself crumpled against the ground—why was he there? Not in his own room? Where was Papyrus—magic acting up to for a barrier around himself as small, arrow shaped bones broke off with each additional hit to fly toward the person attacking him.

That was the wet smell then. Had to be. Monsters… monsters didn’t have fluids like that, with skeletons having marrow on some occasions. 

The Intruder stumbled back as the bone cut across their skin like scissors through ribbon. They ran. The film continued on, five minutes, ten, fifteen, twenty… on and on until finally the barrier of bone fell, Sans crawling to his feet to follow after them.

He watched on the next couple of monitors as the Intruder continued on their way, leaving destruction and death in their wake until they found the monitoring room, and sat. And sat. And sat. 

Then, a rumble. Loud and migraine inducing, even on the monitors, made them leave to continue down the steps that led to the Core.

_ Devour it _ continued to be chanted in the back of his head as Sans’s gaze slid to the only other door in the room. It was the way down into the Core. Colichemarde forming in his hand Sans moved toward it vision hazier than it should be. His vision had been so clear earlier before the tapes. 

His steps don’t so much as make a squeak on the stairs, the Beast inching behind him as he goes further down the emergency lights from the generator long activating here than anywhere else. There’s laughter. High, free, spirited,  _ crazed _ and the clinking of something metallic. 

The scent is thick is his skull and cloying enough that Sans could feel it on his tongue. 

“One more, one more, come out from wherever you are,” It’s sing-songed as they twirl around in the room, heat sweltering as the door that keeps this last room separated from the warmth of the CORE sits wide open. “Don’t you care about my high-score? Just one more and I’ll get that score!” 

There’s a whimper. Soft, scared and oh so familiar that it made Sans grit his teeth to the point he’s sure it chipped. That was Papyrus. 

Sneaking around the corner he hissed when another bang rang out, a bullet of something cold and heavy singeing right through his left shoulder. 

“ _ Two _ more!” They chirped, grin widening as they turned to him. They were bigger than him. Far taller than the tape had given them credit and dressed in something they’d read about recently; a cowboy costume. Hat, vest, Spurs. Gun. “It seemed I wasn’t as thorough as I thought.” They ponder, as if this was a conversation over tea.

The marrow dripped from his arm as he stepped out fully from around the door. He’d never been one to hide. Launching him toward them, the sword held straight Sans aimed for where their soul would be—if they even had one.

They cackle dodging out of the way, the sword catching the edge of their shirt. That same metallic smell fills the room as Sans narrowed his eyes. Not a monster then. Monsters didn’t drip whatever that was; viscous and red. 

The bullet aimed at him in return only misses because of the stream of concentrated magic knocking their aim off course as they laugh, “A silent villain, huh? Y’all sure do know how to make a person feel welcomed!”

They don’t scream out in pain like the other subjects. Don’t hiss, howl, or shout the way his typical sparring partners did. Instead they danced around like this was something enjoyable, laughing, twirling,  _ heckling _ , and Sans could feel the annoyance simmer in his bones like a pot of water over fire.

Even when they dig something out of their pockets the onslaught doesn’t let up, with every hit he can get in they come bouncing back a smile twisted on their lips, a never ending cartridge of bullets even as his own energy wanes. It didn’t help that Sans had lost track of where his counterpart was amongst all of this, he hadn’t heard a whimper, or even a request to help out—which while he might’ve been proud, wouldn’t allow yet—nor even the barest flick of magic. It was disconcerting to say the least. 

They tither, “Oh, your little friend?” There’s a growl in the back of his head as they skip back gun twirling on their finger. The various jutting bones being avoided as if they were never even there. Grip on his sword getting tighter Sans took a step forward. “They’ve been gone for a while!”

It got him to freeze gaze flitting behind them and Sans staggered. Those were  _ his  _ shard lodged into Papyrus’ shirt. When had he hit him? Why had he hit him?  _ Everything  _ had been aimed toward this  _ thing!  _

They laugh again, arms practically curled around their stomach from the force of it. Sans can’t move, his head hurt, his soul  _ ached  _ in his chest and something like disgust rolls around in it. “You’re so stupid!” It’s wheezed out, “They had such hopes for you! Each and every time I see you, you get better!” Each and every time? 

Their movements are languid as they step over to the pile and the Beast snarls in his head, just as frozen as he was despite everything in Sans body urging him to attack while their back was turned. Fairness didn’t exist in this world. 

Their fingers dug into the pile of dust and Sans’s soul lurched at the sight. He’d done that. “You got someone new,” They sing-songed, grin so wide it looks like they’d tear in two. “A shame that you got to him first… ah, well, maybe next time.” 

The bullet aimed true and Sans was waking up with a scream so hoarse with anger that it takes him a couple minutes to grasp that he’s back in his own room, shards of bone coming from everywhere around him. Claws gripped so tight around the sheets that there are marks as far down as the base. 

He can still see their face. Their grin. The  _ dust.  _ His soul aches as he gets out of the bed, doesn’t even pause to change out of something besides what he usually wore to bed as he makes his way out of the door and into the hall. Their laughter rings in his head as his shoulder connects with the various edges of the walls in his hurry. 

_ I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry _

The cameras follow him as he dashes down corridor after corridor, a snarl rippling from him like a storm when he sees the various monsters usually kept under lock and key out and about prowling the lower areas of the facility. Sans knows the Doctor had been on a bend of some kind, exploring what might occur if Papyrus was left on his own with a flimsy cell door, the only thing keeping him separated from the rest of the experiments. 

There’d been hushed conversation about seeing him freeze up in fear and being there, and then not, then back. That it must be a fluke of some kind, his soul warring with the want to  _ stay  _ and the fear forcing him into  _ falling down  _ and it made his magic boil. 

He doesn’t remember forming his sword or dusting the monsters closest to Papyrus’ cell. It’s all instinct, induced by a kind of fear that Sans has never felt before. He had to make  _ sure.  _ See that his counterpart was still alive and ticking and wasn’t a pile of dust with Sans’s shards tearing through his shirt. The dust he does cause clings to his form like a disease. Hides in the crevices between his fingers and under the tips of his claws and he’s sure with the panted, unneeded air he’s taking in that it’s settling on the lines of his ribs. 

The cell door creaks open when he types in the code and he sees the bundle under the bed—because Papyrus was so, so, so smart—flinch at the sound even as Sans falls to his knees, a blazing red taking over his one uncovered socket (the other was still wrapped in bandages. Meant to be removed soon) as the Beast materializes behind him to guard the door, intent heavy in the air. 

Sans was going to destroy everything that so much as  _ moved  _ toward this cell. 

“IT’S OKAY,” He says, sounding like a lie even to himself. His soul nearly lurches out of his chest when Papyrus peaks up at him and he’s  _ okay.  _ No scratches besides the ones covered by plain white plasters on his arms. No injuries besides what the Doctor inflicted—and Sans wanted to destroy him. Eviscerate him.  _ Devour him _ —nothing new caused by him or one of the sloven monsters outside the door. “IT’S OKAY. COME OUT.” 

It’s harsh, nearly an order and Sans forces himself to take a breath when his claws itch with the need to drag the smaller monster out. He wasn’t like the Doctor. He wouldn’t be like the Doctor. The Doctor  _ took  _ things that weren’t his to take, order them to do things that they’d be punished for if they didn’t comply. He wasn’t going to do that. 

Still Papyrus eases out and Sans heaves a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he  _ could.  _ He curls his arms around the smaller monster infinitely careful of his claws—they could rip and tear through the smaller monster like butter if he wasn’t—as Sans curls around him. His soul only slows when Papyrus tucks under his chin, his own, smaller soul thumping rapidly until their song starts up.

Gentle. Soft.  _ Serenity.  _

“can you stay?” It comes out soft as Sans nods words stuck in his throat. Papyrus wasn’t dust. He wasn’t dust and Sans wasn’t the one that had caused it. They were  _ fine.  _ The whimpers from beyond the door don’t faze him even as Papyrus flinches at the noise. 

“IT’S OKAY,” He mumbles eye-light still blazing as he tries to keep the noise to a minimum. “THEY WON’T HURT YOU. I’M STAYING I SWEAR.” 

Sans has to now. After whatever that thing was had somehow gotten him to hurt his counterpart (and he didn’t even know what they  _ were)  _ and then gotten to him. It was an insult. It couldn’t be allowed to happen again. 

Eventually the hallway falls silent as the monsters either return to their cells or get put down with an iron fist. Papyrus curled against his front for one of the first nights he isn’t worried about something sneaking through the gaps.

Sans on the other hand doesn’t dare to close his eyes for even a moment.

***

“He is irritable,” Gaster says to himself as he replays the footage from a few nights prior. Undyne sits quietly looking over the reports from the night crew who’d been put in charge of monitoring P-2’s progress in using his ‘jumping’ ability. 

They’d dubbed it that when the younger monster had quite literally jumped in the air due to fear and appeared somewhere else. Their attempts to recreate the effect have been…disappointing to say the least. There were flickers of it every once and awhile, but nothing as concrete as the first exhibit of it. 

“The cameras in his room show a nightmare of sorts,” Undyne replies evenly, pushing her glasses up once more when they nudge down the bridge of her nose. It was an odd sentence to say. Sans had never exhibited such a thing before and since the incident he’d been far more volatile than usual—breaking rules set out for him to return to the smaller monster’s side as quickly as possible. 

It was a fascinating development. Or, it would be if that same aggression he was displaying was directed toward only the other ‘sparring partners’ Sans was assigned by the Doctor. His ire had spread to anyone that tried to keep them separated for long. At first they thought it had been the LV finally acting up (though Undyne had her doubts of that. Sans wasn’t anywhere near the threshold for it to negatively impact his psyche), and this was his way of trying to deal with it, but that was proved incorrect when the monster had been able to hold a conversation without randomly attacking something. 

“P-2’s drawings have depicted an individual in yellow after their sessions together.” She continued. The Doctor didn’t even hum in acknowledgement, just continued to stare at the footage from a few nights prior. 

Another new development. Sans and P-s were now allowed to have time together alone outside of training sessions. Undyne, wasn’t sure what had brought on the change, but it was one she was secretly happy to see. It was still in monitored rooms of course, but the scenes that occurred during their time were interesting. Typically Sans was a volatile monster, closed off and looked at everything through how efficient it was and in that same thinking he dealt with things he figured would be most efficient. 

Now many, if not all of them, already knew that a bond of some sort had developed between the two, quite similar in Undyne’s opinion to a tentative understanding of a familial bond. Where Sans would be gruff and snide toward other experiments—and even some of  _ them  _ despite their attempts to help him and the younger monster—with Papyrus he was patient. Lax even in the way he held himself when he determined that the room really was devoid of any one else except them. It was behavior that they had noticed before of course, but never got to study in depth due to the Doctor separating them quite quickly.

“I want one of the apprentices to go in today.” It gets her to snap her head up. Oh, no, that's a  _ terrible  _ idea if she’d ever heard one and she’s an  _ apprentice.  _ “He’s telling P-2 something. It’s a possible motivator, or if it’s as effective as I’m thinking it might be, the perfect way to control him.” 

Doctor Gaster taps a finger against his chin switching his focus over to the camera situated on the two during one of their private sessions. Without even a chance to argue that this could backfire on them Undyne can only sit in muted horror as the Doctor turns up the volume. 

“IT’S NOT LIKE THAT MORE...HAPPY? THEY DIDN’T REGRET THINGS.” 

“but… if you didn’t like the dream? Why happy?”

“THEY JUST WERE.” The sneer is twisted into something more like repulsion. “IT WASN’T A GOOD DREAM.”

“... are you sure i should draw it?”

“I DON’T WANT TO FORGET.”

“... the doctor sans…”

“IT’S JUST FOR ME. I JUST NEED YOU TO DRAW IT.” 

Doctor Gaster hums again listening to the back and forth discussion of Sans trying to convince P-2 to draw him whatever the figure is once more. Shifting in her seat Undyne sets the report papers down. 

“I’d like to be the one that talks to them,” She begins straightening up the papers. The Doctor disliked messes. “P-2 trusts me somewhat… Sans is less likely to resort to aggression in front of him around people he likes.”

They had tested that. When it came to the other apprentices Sans would scare them off without preamble, even if he made sure to keep his violence to a minimum (something they were all still debating on), but when Undyne interacted with P-2 the most the other monster would do was drill a glare into the back of her head. She was quite certain it was because she’d looked after P-2 while he was resting. 

She doubted she would ever get confirmation of it. 

“That is… acceptable.” Doctor Gaster agrees, though he never turned away from the monitor. P-2 was drawing again Sans pointing out various things that should be included. 

If there was one other major thing to note from it all it was that Sans made it quite clear that he wasn’t telling P-2 everything. He talked about a figure, what they wore, how they acted, but never what they did. And simply  _ seeing  _ something wouldn’t have had such an effect on him as the cameras had shown.

Sliding away from her desk Undyne massages at her brow, willing the oncoming migraine to leave her be. From the monitoring room she passed some of the other apprentices going through their own observations of the various experiments Doctor Gaster had in his facility, until she climbed some stairs and made her way to the emptiest part of the facility. It didn’t have a name like the other levels, it was just a series of sparsely decorated rooms that Sans and P-2 were allowed to use during their sessions of interaction. They were allowed to bring things they’d earned to them, but that was all. 

The door hisses open and Undyne expects the glare pointed her way, it doesn’t stop her from walking in at all. If she was the one to figure out anything then she more than the others could keep the Doctor from doing too much damage if she played her cards right. 

Smile forming at the way Papyrus tucks in on himself with a shy wave she returns it. He was still a rather quiet monster. “Hello,” She begins moving closer to their little table. Sans’ glare never drops. “I wanted to check in on you.” 

“‘m just drawing.” Papyrus mumbles fingers toying with the end of his crayon. Beside him Sans’ glare doubles in its intensity. “Sans was asking me to draw a cowboy.”

“AND IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.” Sans sneers. His arm even moves to hide some of the paper. It was to be expected. They had a… tentative understanding at best. 

Sans looked at her and saw a threat. Someone that was in cahoots with the Doctor. Papyrus looked at her, and he was wary (more than likely because of Sans’ influences, in her opinion), but he wasn’t outright hostile, just quiet and nervous.

She couldn’t begrudge them for it. All they knew from her was the occasional favor and a bystander in the Doctor’s treatment of them. Undyne knew they had no real trust in her, but that was okay. The words would feel like ash in her mouth, but it’d be the only way she’d be able to get them to share anything, and then try to help them. 

Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind. 

“May I see?” Papyrus looks at her, his fingers twiddling with his crayon before he nervously passes the picture to her. It’s rudimentary. Good for a child she could admit, but rudimentary in comparison to people who’d been able to practice far longer. 

It was the same picture as before. An individual dressed in a yellow so blinding it hurt the eyes to look at for too long. The same hat, the same vest, the same shoes… that was something new. There was something red. Just as bright as the only other color on the page and all Undyne can do is blink.

“HE WANTS IT BACK NOW.” Sans spits hand held out. It isn’t a request. Without a word she gives it back watching the way the Papyrus curls over it before taking a new blank page from his sketchbook to draw on. No yellow in sight of his chosen colors. “WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU WANT, FISH-FACE.”

Her fins flare in indignation as her smile threatens to fall. Sans could be quite the brat. Though, to be fair, Undyne had some choice words to describe him as well sometimes—they were both in reality, still children after all. And some days, Undyne had the urge to pull him into a brawl just to get him to show her some respect. 

Sans smirk widens at the way her fingers clench atop the table. He was such a frustrating child, but that in turn was what made his interactions with Papyrus so fascinating. A monster who, for all intents and purposes,  _ shouldn’t  _ have been able to form a connection with another creature (because Undyne had seen Doctor Gaster’s notes, the Strike project were meant to be damage dealers that simply used the Passive defense series as a way to cool down) had. It was a turn of events that Undyne wanted to study, but pushed down in the fact that… she could recognize that this was wrong.

They were children. Or, one of them would be considered a child. Sans was toeing the line between being seen as a child because of his age and outside of any protection laws because of his LV. 

“I’d like to talk to you both,” She says smoothly, propping her chin on her hand. Sans looks at her unconvinced. She sighs, “Nothing bad. I want to make sure you’re okay… you’ve been quite impulsive as late if it was just you things wouldn’t be so worrying,” —here Sans hisses at her, hands curling into fists as Papyrus tucks against his side. It’s a low blow and it feels like laceration on her tongue as she continues— “But what would happen if you were too reckless? P-2—”

“ _ PAPYRUS,”  _ Sans snaps. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL.” 

“If you were too reckless  _ Papyrus  _ would be left on his own.” She continues, gesturing with a hand. “Alone. Here without anyone else to talk to and no one to connect with, isn’t that a bad thing?”

“IT ISN’T GOING TO HAPPEN.” It’s hissed out as a tiny indent forms in the wood.

“We have your reaction to a nightmare.” She points her finger at the half hidden drawing, “And this, has been a recurring theme in your latest sessions. Share it with me and I can make sure that nothing bad happens to Papyrus. That’s the only way I can help you.”

It’s a lie. And she’s sure deep down Sans knows it is too, but with the way he falters and his eye flicks over to the smaller monster, that distrust doesn’t hold as prevelantly as they thought. Sans was a volatile monster, always had been since his creation—but they were learning that he was also an incredibly protective one. Of course, it wasn’t perfect by any means, he had problems with dictating certain action, expectations, snapping when Papyrus didn’t follow certain suggestions (And it could go badly. She knew that from the first instance of it, but there wasn’t much she could do for that), but it was very much a monster protecting another. 

“I can even get you something to help look after him.” Undyne offers, never looking away from him. “So you don’t have to keep breaking your own thumb.” 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT.” 

“You tell me what the drawing is of,” She taps her finger over the red spots, “And what this is.” 

Sans stares at her silently, his fists only uncurling when Papyrus tugs at one of his fingers with a quiet, distressed noise from his throat, “you actually hurt yourself… be careful.”

Undyne looks at him curiously. It was always a debate on whether or not Papyrus picked up that people could harm others or even themselves doing the same things that he did out of nerves. From this, it seemed that he did. They knew he understood fear—quite thoroughly—but weren’t so certain about how he perceived the rest of the world or even his counterpart. From this it was apparent that he was aware that people could intentionally, or even unintentionally cause harm. 

“Does he do that often?” Undyne inquires politely.

Papyrus fidgets tucking his chin to his chest, “sometimes… i always remind him not to.” 

“And why is that?”

“it goes down.” After a moment Sans’ pats his head, awkward and slow with his fingers sticking out straight and Undyne has to keep herself from blinking in confusion. Papyrus just smiles to himself, “it goes down fast sometimes… mine doesn’t.” 

“That’s… right.” Her brows furrow all while Sans sends her a smug look. “And you… recognize what it going down means?”

“dust,” Papyrus says simply and Sans  _ preens  _ next to him and something tight constricts in her chest. A child shouldn’t know what dust is and say it so casually. But… the time when that was common was long over. “sans says i can dust easily… but it doesn’t hurt… his does. his numbers go down.” 

“And you make sure it doesn’t go too far?”

He nods a nervous flush to his cheek-bones. “‘s somethin’ to do sometimes he forgets… so it gives me something to do.”

“That’s” — _ oh, that’s.  _ That’s  _ good.  _ Papyrus had shown signs of being uncertain what his purpose was ever since his creation. Undyne struggles to keep her expression straight at the revelation. They were collaborating  _ healthily. Looking after one another.  _ “That’s very good work Papyrus. You should be proud.” 

His flush gets brighter as he tucks further behind Sans’ back. She doesn’t miss the shy smile. “HE’S VERY INTELLIGENT.” Sans agrees without a falter in his glare. “THEY WERE REAL.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He looks at the drawing never moving from his place as Papyrus uses him as a hiding spot. “THE DRAWING. THEY WERE REAL. I HEARD THEM. FELT THEM. THEY WERE HERE.”

“There has been no one of that description in this lab, Sans.” 

“THEY  _ WERE. _ ”

“And how pray tell would they have gotten in.”

“FORCEFULLY.”

She raises a brow. “You’re certain you saw them in this lab.”

“I AM NOT SEEING THINGS IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE ASKING.”

“Did they tell you anything?” 

His teeth grind together as he doubles down on his glare. 

She sighs, tapping the red crayon once more. “And this?” 

“THEY GOT HURT,” 

The intercom clicks to life. “That’s enough. Sans, P-2 head to the examination room.” 

***

The Doctor loomed over them both. With a nudge of his palm Sans eased Papyrus further behind him. Whenever they were in a room with the Doctor it rarely meant anything well for them. 

One hand still tucked behind his back the Doctor holds up a paper. One of Papyrus’ first drawings of Sans’ dream creature. (their laughter still echoed in his head). He nudges himself even further in front of his counterpart. 

“Do you know what this is?” It comes out smooth, nonplussed. Sans eyes him in distrust as he shakes his head. Papyrus grips onto the back of his shirt.

“it’s just a drawing doctor gaster,” He mumbles, making sure to keep his head down.

Doctor Gaster hums tapping a finger on the paper as he looks down at them both. Sans resists the urge to bare his teeth—it hadn’t gone well for him last time. “Just a drawing,” He tsks, “No, no this is something far more.” He turns to Sans. “You’ve seen them before haven’t you?” 

His face scrunches. He… hadn’t? They seemed familiar, they  _ talked  _ to him as if they we’re:  _ each and every time I see you _ they’d told him. So why didn’t he remember? Had they hurt him before? Had they hurt  _ Papyrus  _ before? Or was it always him that did that? 

His soul wavers in his rib cage at the thought. What if he’d been hurting Papyrus and wasn’t remembering? 

“I…” 

“They’re terrible things,” Doctor Gaster continues, not bothering to give him more time to think. He holds out a different picture; a real one, from the cameras Sans has read about. It’s of a child, small, maybe the same size as himself, perhaps a little smaller. “This one is a human. Creatures that hunt us down for fun, keep up trapped down here. The reason for your creation… I’m certain the one you've drawn is one you’ve seen before.” 

“They’re interesting things,” Sans stares at the picture unblinking, forcing Papyrus to stay back when he notices the red. The same color as the one in his dream. It was stark against their shirt and made his magic boil just as quickly. “Capable of things we aren’t entirely sure of… they may be here still somewhere out of reach, but close enough to make sure you see things that aren’t really there.”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAW!” Sans snaps. 

Gaster chuckles. “Oh do you? You saw them? They hurt you didn’t they? And yet you’re still here… alive, standing, moving, are you sure they haven’t done something to you?” 

No. he… Sans was sure that he’d died. He’d felt the bullet, seen them  _ smile, he'd _ seen Papyrus’  _ dust.  _ It… It had to just be some odd dream. How could he be here if they had really done that? If they weren’t just a figment? It was… the Doctor had called them human…

“HOW…” He swallows, thankful for the soothing noise of Papyrus’ soul so close to his own. “HOW WOULD I KNOW THAT THEY WEREN’T SOMETHING FAKE. SOMETHING THAT  _ YOU  _ MADE.” 

“Because I made you to destroy them. The barrier first and then they would follow.” He moves the photo away, Sans eyes tracking it. “Humans are capable of so much that we don’t understand… you seeing them in your dreams might be something they’re capable of.” 

He squeezes Papyrus’ shoulder tighter, not even noticing the flinch until the smaller monster is trying to tug free of his grip. He drops it like it’s on fire. “AND… WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT US HERE? TO PUNISH ME.” 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Doctor gaster chuckles, hand as cold as ice coming to pet his head. It feels fake. Sans  _ knows  _ it’s fake, but… he has to know more about the thing… the human. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. Someone who knows these creatures well… to have them educate you on the subject.”

“WHEN?” He didn’t want to see that again. Didn’t want to imagine that he’d been the reason his counterpart would be dusted, or that he would  _ fail  _ again. Sans didn’t  _ fail. _

“Soon,” Gaster says loftily, hands returning behind his back. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her. Our Queen yes? Now, why don’t you take P-2 to your room for the day.”

It isn’t typical that he’s allowed to take Papyrus anywhere. Let alone  _ his  _ room, but Sans doesn’t think. He just leaves, leading his counterpart through the maze that is the lab with a new kind of scrutiny. Maybe his room would be safer.

The Queen was coming, soon. He’d have to make sure he learned everything he could about… humans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual please let me know if I forgot to tag/warn for something. 
> 
> I have a writing/headcanon blog where i don't shut up   
> [the blog](https://little-guy-writes.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So heads up for Narcissistic parent tactics. There's also a decently graphic non-psychotic hallucination in the first half of the chapter. Uhh, also just in case there is a somewhat brief discussion over self-image issues.

I'm a friend of the devil

I'm a dangerous rebel

It's the life that I can't escape, can't walk away

- [ Friend of the Devil ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvMEonS6bxs) , Adam Jensen

* * *

The hallway lights were off. Nothing but the creaking of the few night-staff (the apprentices who’s luck couldn’t stick around long, as Sans likes to think) walking through the halls to conduct maintenance or study the various experiments contained in different areas of the facility. None of them come close to his door.

He’d know. His hearing had been one of his first senses honed to a degree that it could be an annoyance than helpful—being able to hear even the slightest breath at any time was enough to make a lesser man go insane. 

It was a good thing that Sans was above so many others. Why the subtle snoring from the bed wasn’t enough to cause him to twitch in annoyance; if it was anyone else he doubted he’d be so accommodating.

Shifting in his spot beside the bed Sans tilts his head back. Papyrus was tucked under all the blankets smack-dab in the middle, looking more like a hill than a monster. It brings a ghost of a smile to his face. 

The Doctor was… far more lenient as late than usual and while the thought sat heavy in his mind more often than anything else, Sans could admit to himself that he enjoyed the leniency; just that he didn’t trust it was for good reason. 

It is nice though. His room in comparison to Papyrus’, if he’d even dare to call the cell that. A majority of the things the younger monster did have was smuggled into his room to make it feel… lived in. Sans had his own things, the bookshelf that he wished he could spend hours at a time perusing through all over again, the notebooks that he wrote down everything of interest in (mainly monster statistic and thoughts on what the Doctor planned), but the things that made it  _ feel  _ like a room were Papyrus’.

The drawings. The small messes left all over—that Sans would never leave on his own and he encouraged Papyrus to pick them up, but it seemed like a fruitless effort for now—the stories he came up with when they were alone and Sans shows him that all the cameras are covered up. 

“I GUESS IT’S THE SAYING MAKE A HOUSE A HOME,” He muses to himself looking at the unmoving bundle of bones. He couldn’t sleep. 

It hadn’t happened right away. The first night Papyrus was allowed to stay with him Sans had slept decently, maybe five or six hours before his body demanded that he get up and ready for whatever trials the day would bring. But lately, the number has been dwindling, ever so slowly. 

Tonight it had been three hours. Ever since he’s been sitting by the bed, a stack of pencils and bound notebooks next to him as Sans rotates his focus from the sleeping monster to the door. Lately, his thoughts have been a mess. 

Claws snagging onto the oldest looking notebook Sans flips to the last handful of blank pages. He’s started writing things down about the ‘human’ ever since the Doctor had shown them a picture of one. It unnerved him; that he had visions of things, flashes of them in various corridors, but he’d never met them before. 

It had to have been some terrible dream, or a trick from the Doctor. None of it made sense. 

The grip on his pencil tightens as he notes down everything he ‘remembers’. If Sans could even call it that, it felt more like a figment, a hallucination after being in a tank too long, they  _ couldn’t  _ be real. There was no way that Sans had been defeated or tricked into harming his counterpart. 

And yet… 

There was another dream. One that makes his hands quiver at the mere thought of it. Could feel the residual magic still stuck in between his fingers and joints as he crushed a soul in his hands. 

Had muttered, “IT’S BETTER TO BE KILLED WITH MERCY THAN LET HIM SUFFER WITH YOU.” 

His fingers shake as he writes the sentence beneath a track record. Or, what he thinks is a track record? Sans can’t say that he’s very sure anymore. Some of it looks faded,  _ wrong,  _ as if it shouldn’t be there at all. Others look pristine and not at all like his writing, and he doesn’t remember putting it down. 

Words like; _tick-tock_ _counts down the clock_ scrunched into a corner of an older page and another word that’s just repeated over and over: _hypocrite._

Sans couldn’t have meet the human before. There’s no way he could have… he should be dead,  _ Papyrus should be dead.  _

_ Is it because we killed him  _ the Beast rumbles  _ because you did?  _

“I DON’T KNOW.” is what he settles on. Nothing louder than a whisper. “I DON’T KNOW. WHAT IF I DID?”

_ Remove the problem.  _ It suggests, it’s voice a mangled mix of a croon and a whine and all Sans can do is sit there in a daze.

Why didn’t he remember more? Why did he remember some things? Could he even consider it memories? What if it was just the Doctor? The thoughts fly about in his head, as he squeezes his sockets shut, hands closing tight as odd flashes cut through him like a knife. 

There’s something wet in his hand.  _ There’s something wet in his hand.  _ It makes his soul lurch as his sockets bulge open and he heaves at the sight of a crushed soul in his hands, wet and ashy all at the same time. It isn’t his. 

The notebook clatters with the soul as he scrambles away from it, his shoulder hitting the wooden edge of the bed with a noise he knows he should register, but can’t. His vision is focused on the little soul on the floor, some of it starting to dust before his eyes and his fingers twitch in a move to reach for it before he curls them around himself. It was better if he didn’t. 

He was hurting  _ it.  _ With a shake to his frame that he thinks, even for the briefest moment, might topple him, Sans cranes his head to look at the bed. The lump was gone and he can feel his soul rattling in his rib cage. He’d done it again. 

_ He’d done it again.  _

“sans?” He flinches as something taps his cheek a whimper coming from somewhere near when Sans’ head jerks into something. He stills, posture going rigid as his claws clamps down on the fabric of his shirt and he turns his head. 

“NO,” it’s more a croak than anything else as he sees Papyrus’ figure leaning half-on and half-off the bed, hands cradling his own head. He flicks his gaze back over to the soul on the floor. Still there. Still turning to dust. His breathing gets shaky, “YOU’RE NOT REAL.  _ I HURT YOU _ .” 

The  _ thing _ —because it couldn’t be Papyrus. Sans  _ hurt  _ him. Again—reaches for him again and Sans can’t even will his arms to move let alone convince himself to form anything. The thing’s brow furrows, “‘m right here?”

“YOU’RE NOT!” Sans denies and his HP ticks down slowly in the back of his mind. “YOU’RE NOT.” 

The thing reaches for the soul on the floor and Sans’s soul constricts as a part of it falls off from the rest. “you broke the pencil?”

Pencil? 

“NO,” He breathes even as his own soul stutters to a stop. Carefully he unhooks his claws from his shirt to prod at the thing. Solid bone. And the scrunch that Papyrus always does when he doesn’t like something. 

“ _ yes,”  _ It’s huffed out as a smaller hand grabs something off the floor to shove at his face. “and lead shredding.”

Sans blinks the grip tightening on Papyrus’ arm to practically tug him out the blanket tangles and down so he can curl over him like a ball. The hands push at his shoulders, “too tight.” It’s a whine and Sans loosens his grip so that Papyrus can settle more comfortably, “stop sleepin’ on the floor.”

“I’M NOT.” Razz returns quietly. His fingers are still shaking, but he doesn’t feel comfortable with the monster being somewhere he can’t keep constant interaction up. He thought he’d hurt him again. 

“you need sleep.” Papyrus says petulantly, reaching past Sans’ shoulder to slowly tug the comforter over them both. He snuggles into Sans’ side as soon as he has a blanket to curl up in. The frightening thought of wanting to shove him into his own rib cage makes Sans’ loosen up his hold even more. 

He wasn’t going to let… whatever this is contribute to potentially harming them. Either of them, no matter what it is. 

“OKAY,” He agrees flatly. His eyes are a million miles away. 

The song starts up shortly after Papyrus huffs again, soothing and close and before he can stop himself Sans relaxes against the side of the bed, legs stretch out to hold the bundle of blankets. 

He never hears the considering hum from the bookshelf nor does he notice that with their disappearance the words in his notebook revert to a state of time from before this.

None the wiser.

  
  


***

The lights in the building were back on, some of them streaming in through the gap beneath the door. Carefully, Sans untangles the smaller monster wrapped around his front to rest on the bed instead. It’d be far more comfortable to get the rest of his sleep there. 

He didn’t even remember falling asleep… it must have been a good night for once. Patting his hand on the floor next to him Sans goes about his routine of noting down his thoughts of the previous day. The last couple of pages were blank besides his own meticulous note-taking, though it seemed as if his spacing was off. 

Sans would take care to keep it more even next time.

***

“YOUR LACES,” Sans reminds the younger monster. A few days have passed. The Doctor had kept up his leniency as well, though now they had to be on their  _ best behavior  _ as they’d been warned. “DO YOU NEED HELP?”

Papyrus was borrowing some of his older clothes—they were the only things that would fit. After all, the Doctor still hasn’t seen fit to give him his own. Sighing his finishes up with his own clothes before propping Papyrus’ foot on his knee. 

“WATCH.” 

There’s a pout on Papyrus’ face, his brows furrowed in disappointment at the fact that his fingers still stumbled with the ties. However he does watch Sans’ slowed down movements resolutely. 

“YOU TRY THE OTHER ONE,” Sans continues wiping off the non-existent dirt from his pants. They had to look proper for the Queen. 

Papyrus’ fingers are clumsy as he finally manages the knot but the way he beams over it is enough for Sans to awkwardly pat his head. Going from no shoes to suddenly having to wearing them? Who wouldn’t be proud that they managed to tie a knot at all, even if it looked a little uneven. 

“is it good?” The excitement is palpable as Papyrus holds his arms out in a pose far too similar to some of the flimsier books filled with pictures. They’d stopped reading those when Sans finally had a word to describe the individuals. 

Humming he looks it over. He’d allowed the child to pick out what he wanted and it was in a word. Garish. The colors didn’t match and it was far too large on him even with them being hand-me-downs, but… Papyrus looked quite pleased with himself. 

“IT IS. ACCEPTABLE.” Is what he settles on as the beam grows large. Sans motions for him to stand still. “ALL WE HAVE TO DO IS CUFF THE PANTS AND MAYBE THE SLEEVES?” It’s mostly a muse to himself, but Papyrus pouts all the same.

“i don’t want her to see my arms…” 

Sans quirks a brow. “WHY IS THAT?”

“they’re ugly,” He mumbles it as he curls a hand over one of the too big sleeves. “the doctor says that broken things shouldn’t be seen.”

“BECAUSE  _ HE  _ IS A BROKEN THING. A JEALOUS, BROKEN  _ TERRIBLE  _ THING.” 

The heat of it makes Papyrus jolt his sockets growing to the size of dinner plates. The grip has tightened, his feet fidgeting in nervousness. Sans shuts his sockets, drawing in a long, bracing breath as he calms down. 

His ire toward the other monster had grown exponentially over the years. Some of it he’s learned was plain animosity over what the man has done to—will continue to do to him. To them both. It was a kind of disdain that grew in the cracks of broken bones, filled with mold and festered until there was enough to kill. 

“YOU’RE NOT BROKEN,” Sans says softer this time  even as the Beast rages in the back of his mind to say more  _ why don’t you say more!  _ It hisses  _ tell him he is better than the scum _ _.  _ But those words don’t come. “EVEN IF YOU WERE YOU SHOULD STILL BE SEEN. HOW ELSE WILL PEOPLE KNOW HOW STRONG YOU ARE?” 

Carefully he folds up one of the sleeves, tapping one of the new chips that was slowly starting to fill in. “WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS?” 

“a failure,” Papyrus says plainly, eye lights shifted away. “keep breakin’ it over an’ over cause i can’t help it even though doctor says not to.” 

Sans sighs, a wry twitch to his expression. “YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK?”

He nods shoulders hunched. Carefully he squeezes the younger monster's wrist before letting go to roll up his own sleeve all the way up to the humerus. Sans taps at a long, jagged crack that spreads all the way down to his wrist. 

“I DID THIS.” Sans tells him gaze never wavering. Papyrus’ expressions scrunching as he whimpers, imagining a pain he doesn’t know of. “I BROKE IT CLEAN IN TWO DOWN THE MIDDLE BECAUSE I GOT ANGRY. IT ISN’T A FAILURE,” Papyrus looks at him unconvinced. He just huffs, “I GOT BETTER AT MY TEMPER. THOSE,” He taps once more to the chips and cracks marrying Papyrus’ arm. “ARE JUST A SIGN OF SOMETHING YOU’RE FEELING. YOU CAN IMPROVE JUST LIKE I CAN… LOOK AT THEM AS A GOAL. SOMETHING TO KEEP YOU GOING. UNTIL YOU’RE STRONG ENOUGH TO CONTROL HOW YOU FEEL, OKAY?”

It perhaps isn’t the best way to phrase it but it’s the only way Sans can say it. Their scars, cracks, chips aren’t a failure. They’re a picture of all the things they survived through and will continue to survive through. Of the things that eventually, in time, they’ll be able to control. Injuries are never a weakness, they’re just stories given physical form, and some of those are nicer than others. 

Papyrus’ lower jaw juts out as he grasps the hem of the rolled up sleeve. In the tiniest voice Sans’ has ever heard him use he asks, “really?” And it feels like his soul might break in two when he sees the shine of tears. “there’s really nothin’ broken ‘bout me?” 

They had both learned about a new phrase; it’s cruel to be kind. He can’t say he understands it fully—or that he ever might—but Sans has confided to himself, at the least, that the phrase is meant to be cruel to those who deserve it so that those who are kind (even though he knew deep down it was such a dangerous, silly, oblivious way of thinking) can continue to be.

He’d be the cruel to Papyrus’ kind. Two sides of the same coin. What would it be to add that to his side of the coin?

Sans knew he wasn’t the… most adjusted as Undyne had very plainly told him, (“You’re as personable as wall and just as dense as a book when it comes to interacting.”) but Sans could say that out of the things he’s learned, unlearned (with one being more than the other), and the things that he would pick up later, he’s certain that caring for another creature is the one he’s made the most progress.

Before he thought it was the deconstruction of only seeing himself as a weapon. That no matter how much the Doctor, no  _ Gaster _ would say it over and over, punish him again and again for his outbursts, his indignity about treatment, that he would never really be able to live up to them. It had crushed him at first. Felt like a hole had formed in him and kept growing, and then Sans realized that being  _ something  _ for  _ someone  _ wasn’t the end all be all. He could be any number of things different—part of him still wanted to be seen as a weapon, just to help cement the fear, but he knew better now. Even if marginally. 

“NOTHING,” He agrees. Reaching for the other sleeve Sans waits to roll it by the hesitant nod Papyrus gives him. “YOU’RE JUST FINE PAPYRUS, DON’T LET HIM LIE TO YOU ANYMORE.”

Which wasn’t that a hypocritical statement? 

It’s when he’s rolling up the pants legs—so that he doesn’t just  _ fall on his face _ —that Sans gets a hug. The arms are wrapped around his head and the entire left half of his skull is smooshed like a pillow. It is decidedly, a very uncomfortable hug when you’re bending in half for someone who’s half your height. 

But, despite the uncomfortable way his bones resist the bending Sans carefully pats the younger’s back until he’s released. “thank you,” The small smile Papyrus gives him is enough to prompt one of Sans’ own awkward attempts at a smile. 

It was a work in progress if the face Papyrus gives him is anything to go by. “you might wanna soften it,” He giggles and it’s one of the only times it feels like he really gets to be a child (and maybe he should be jealous? He’s never gotten to be but… something about it feels better to make sure he gets to be) with a squeaky kind of laugh that he tries to hide. 

Sans tries again, not even bothering to listen to the advice, just to get him to giggle a little more. They’d need all the small pieces of joy they could get.

“ _ nooo,”  _ Papyrus says in dismay, still giggling as he brings up his hands to try and stretch Sans’ expression into something new. As if his skull was play-doh instead of bone. “‘s like… that!”

He lets his head be turned to the little mirror setup on the wall and Sans isn’t normally a laugher but the image of his face twisted into something so  _ blatantly done by a child _ is enough to make him snort, the sound coming out quieter than it might typically be with on of Papyrus’ hands practically covering his nose hole. 

There’s even louder giggling. Sans sends him a look, not moving from his place. “YOU REALLY THINK THIS IS AN IMPROVEMENT?” 

“uh-huh!” Papyrus says with a nod so powerful that it looks like it might dislodge itself.

With a quirk to his brow Sans shakes his head. “WELL IF YOU SAY SO IT HAS TO BE TRUE DOESN’T IT.” 

Another hug, tight around his middle and so abrupt it nearly knocks him off his feet. Slow as a snail Sans tentatively wraps his own hands around the smaller monster. Keeps his claws tucked into his own palms to be extra certain that he wouldn’t hurt anything, wouldn’t accidentally squeeze something too hard, or startle and break something. 

“thank you.” That’s it. Two simple words filled with enough soul that it makes Sans’ own quiver, just a bit. 

He really did have to look out for the kid. Actually  _ wanted  _ to.

Sans clears his throat, an awkward wet sound accompanying it before he clears it. “YOU’RE WELCOME. READY TO INTRODUCE YOURSELF TO THE QUEEN?” 

Papyrus nods, but it doesn’t stop him from maneuvering to hide behind his leg. With a sigh Sans just leads him along—he’d grow out of it, eventually. Until then he’d do what he could. 

***

Queen Toriel they learn is a very large monster. A very large,  _ intimidating  _ monster, with so much LV that it makes Papyrus shake where he’s standing the grip he has on Sans’ shirt being the only thing that’s keeping him standing. 

Sans swallows. This was nothing like he’d been expecting—the apprentices mentioned the Queen on occasion, that she was a ruthless woman who ruled the Underground with an iron fist. Nothing else was discussed besides that of course.

He could plainly say that the woman before him was something he  _ wanted  _ to be. She radiated power and not in a demure way, no, she held it like a threat ever present in the air—her smile was soft, but Sans could feel the teeth around his neck without them being barred.

“Hello,” She greets soft and steady, the real steel hidden under layers of soft fabric and a gentle looking poise. But with even a cursory scan Sans can see the truth under the seams—the plating of armor, the way one of her paws (large enough to crush their heads in a single, swift movement) rests at her waist, covering something. Sees the faded scars in her fur that she presents proudly, sees the steel in her gaze as she looks down at them.

“It seems that one of you is quite the observable little monster,” She laughs motioning toward the two seats across the table from here. Her hand never leaves her waist. “It would be a shame if only one of you was worth something.” 

Papyrus squeezes at his shirt nervously, tucking behind him when the smile that the Queen sends him has no warmth. “WE’RE A PAIR.” Sans informs her primly, seating himself before the younger monster does the same. 

“I never said that you were not,” With her free hand she gestures to the plates in front of them. Covered with a meal more extravagant than either of them have ever seen. With narrowed sockets Sans grabs Papyrus’ hand before he can take something. 

Queen Toriel smiles her teeth as sharp as a blade. Carefully Sans hooks his foot around the leg of Papyrus’ chair to bring him closer. Her smile never drops, the radiation of her LV doesn’t either. “In fact all I said was that I hope that you don’t disappoint me.” Her gaze shifts to Papyrus, no warmth in it despite the way her eyes crinkle. “You may have some little one, perhaps you will be more grateful than the traitor’s child.” 

Papyrus’ free hand stays put in his lap, a nervous glance Sans way. A tapping noise starts up from the other side of the table, the Queen’s grin twisting up, but it doesn’t look pleased. Her tone is anything but welcoming, “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone’s cooking? The hard work they put into something?” He takes a long, bracing breath as her smile evens out, just a bit. Sans squeezes the younger monster's hand under the table when his fingers start to twitch. “You aren’t ungrateful children are you?” 

Sans reaches for the plates in front of them, passing a cookie the younger monster’s way. It’s dusted with sugar and brightly colored with something that smells vaguely sweet. “NO YOUR MAJESTY—”

“Queen,” Toriel corrects, with a bit of bite, though her gaze never leaves Papyrus’ nervous form. It makes something… something prickly run down his spine; Sans can’t say he’s a fan. This woman had so much power… but maybe it wasn’t a power he wanted. “Oh, you remind me of my own dear boy.” 

Papyrus glances up at her even with his head tilted down. The tightening of countenance only softens when he offers up a hesitant, “thank you queen toriel.” It’s the only thing he could think to say, the nervous quiver to his jaw lets it be known.

She eyes his form with a critical eye and the smoothing of her face into something frigid makes Sans’ hackles rise. Makes him feel like what he would imagine a cornered animal would; he grits his teeth to keep his tongue under control. 

It was uncomfortable. They way she was scrutinizing his counterpart. Sans had no doubt that Gaster was informing her of their progress, what they were like, what their roles were supposed to be, but Queen Toriel didn’t look at them like one might assess an asset. She looked at Papyrus and saw something that wasn’t there.

Toriel clicks her tongue, a new kind of fire in her eyes as she grabs Papyrus’ arm without his permission,  _ ignores his flinch _ and Sans has to shove down the need to bare his teeth. “What are these from?” 

She already revealed she was a mother, but… it didn’t sit right. In the same way that people referred to Gaster as a genius. The monster was intelligent, but he didn’t deserve any praise past that. Queen Toriel might be a mother but perhaps she didn’t deserve any praise for it.

There wasn’t a warmth in the way she interacted with them—though what did he really have to compare it to? Sans couldn’t say he was a good counterpart on occasion. 

“we… we roughhouse,” it’s a half-truth and Sans squeezes his hand again in the only way he thinks he could get away with showing encouragement. It was something he picked up on early; how Papyrus thrived off of tactile affection. He wasn’t… the most open monster, but he tries. “‘m clumsy so i fall a lot.” 

The Queen stares at them, no shift to her expression. Sans gets the feeling that whether she believed them or not it wouldn’t matter.

HE DOES. HIS BRAIN WORKS TOO FAST FOR HIS LIMB SO HE TENDS TO FALL.” 

“Of course,” Toriel agrees easily. Her face doesn’t give anything away. “Well you are just children, what would you know about being careful.” 

OF COURSE, QUEEN TORIEL,” Sans grits, a migraine forming from the pure annoyance of it all. His voice however, does very little to hide that annoyance. “WE HAVE PLENTY TO LEARN STILL.” 

She smiles now, a genuine kind of crinkle as she pushes the plate of sweets closer to them. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. If you can’t help me then there’s no way that I can help you,” Her eyes look over them again and it feels like ice down his spine. “I have spoken to Gaster about this, I think it would be a wonderful opportunity to spread your experience with the Underground past this facility.”

Her gaze shifts solely to him. “Especially since he’s shared that one of you has had a… terrible encounter with an entity from the surface. 

“do we…” Papyrus hesitates fidgeting with his own fingers. “would we really get to see more?” 

Sans’ sockets narrow into a glare. The woman was cheating. Offering up something like that? After clearly being aware of what Gaster really was and how he treated them? They didn’t  _ know  _ the outside, had been told time and time again that it would only happen when they were ready. 

There’s an excited tug at his sleeve. He looks out of the corner of his socket willing his soul not to waiver at how excited Papyrus looks. “WHAT WOULD BE YOUR REQUIREMENTS?” Because there was no way this was being offered without some kind of deal—neither of them were ready.

Queen Toriel’s smile widens, turns almost smug he’d even say. “Your time would be divided between here and studying under the guard and my servants. You have a purpose, and that purpose is to serve the throne, you are aware of that yes?”

“GASTER TOLD US WE WERE SUPPOSED TO DESTROY THE BARRIER.”

“Oh, my dear, silly, little creature that is  _ my  _ will. I want to see them burn for all they have taken from me,” Her gaze flits once to Papyrus and Sans doesn’t miss the way her smile turns cruel. “The things they might take from you both. I can offer you a far more enjoyable experience, you just have to sign your loyalty over to me.”

“sign it over?” Papyrus inquires his head tilting quizzically. 

Sans glare never dims as the Queen shows over her teeth, sliding over a piece of paper absolutely dripping in magic. “Of course, child. You and your…  _ brother _ would show faith in the throne—in  _ me.  _ You like these don’t you?” She inquiries and after a moment Papyrus nods, ducking his head shyly. “I can make sure you always have a full belly, you just have to agree to my terms.”

“HE DOESN’T,” Sans cuts in ignoring the annoyed expression boring a hole into his head. As much as her magic trickles down his spine in a threat his own gaze never falters. “UNDER YOUR LAWS HE’S STILL A CHILD,” And Sans wasn’t. No since his LV had broken the minimum. Not quite dangerous yet, but average. “I CAN SIGN IT, BUT BY YOUR OWN LAWS A CHILD ISN’T ALLOWED TO MAKE SUCH DECISIONS.”

“but… i don’ wanna be left behind.” 

“YOU WOULDN’T.” Sans assures, keeping the smirk that wants to form at bay at the way Queen Toriel’s brows twitch with irritation. She would downplay them verbally, much like Gaster, but unlike him she’d hide her nastiness in front of a being still considered a child. Well, if his hunch was right. “YOU’RE MY BROTHER AS SHE SAID. I WORK WITH YOU SO EVEN IF YOU CAN’T SIGN THAT RIGHT NOW, I’M SURE YOU’LL BE ABLE TO JOIN, WOULDN’T HE MY QUEEN?”

He lifts his hand from the paper, his own magic mixed in with it and the glare he receives could melt the Core. Sans offers up a fake, excited smile. “WE LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR TUTELAGE.” 

She wouldn’t refute him. Not in front of a child. This was just a new stepping stone—if the Queen wanted to try and manipulate his little brother then Sans would make sure to refute her hold any way he could. 

It was his job to look out for them after all. Even if the lady was only marginally safer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual please let me know if I forgot to tag/warn for something. 
> 
> I have a writing/headcanon blog where i don't shut up  
> [the blog](https://little-guy-writes.tumblr.com/)


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